It's a Boy

In hindsight we’ve learned that those first magical words, “It’s a Boy!” don’t hold a lot of significance for the first few years. Because when you’re holding a sweet, smooshy, fresh from the angels newborn boy, thoughts of future mischief and mayhem aren’t even queued up in your mind.

The last few months seem to have solidified Colin’s awareness of his position among the male species like never before. And we find ourselves a little confounded by the seemingly sudden disappearance of our little baby. Yes, I know he’s nearing forty pounds and is as big as many four year olds, but he’s still our baby bumble.

Maybe it’s because Colin burps with abandon at the table and giggles at the result. Skinned knees graced with coveted neon Band-Aids are displayed proudly as badges of honor. Boogers are explored and presented to Mommy with pomp and circumstance. Kisses for “bonky head” are collected like so many seashells. A request to not yell in the store is immediately received with a screeching crescendo and a “just try to stop me in public” gleam to the eye.

Or it could be the proud exclamations of “I tooted!!”

Perhaps it’s when, while on the potty and erm, exploring his boyness, he looks up at me at the result of his, uh, explorations and says, “Potty Prize!” with a huge whole-face smile. (how did I respond? "That's one way to label it. Now quit touching it and go pee.")

I think it also has something to do with an innate male knowledge that a hammer must be banged on something, cat tails must have been made to be pulled, flirty eyes can get you out of a jam, and that when running nude through the sprinklers, you might as well sprinkle back.

It’s a boy, indeed.