My son (my only son, David, 5) adores his dad. Adores his dad so much that all he wants to be when he grows up is a daddy. This is after he marries our neighbor Fen, who is an older woman at age 6. (“Someday, when Fen and I are married…” he muses. ) (The marriage plans are becoming a bit more complicated now that Fen’s family is moving, but hey, they can always stay connected on Facebook, and then have a great story to tell.)
David is concerned, however, because he realizes that to be a daddy, your voice has to be way lower than his is right now. He asked me about this last week, concerned that maybe there’s something he needs to be doing about this voice situation, and no one has told him what it is. He was quite relieved when I assured him that he doesn’t need to do anything, but that it will just happen naturally when he is 12 or 13.
David’s adoration of his dad may stem in part from the fact that they are the only males in the house (other than the cat), outnumbered by the women. Or maybe little boys just adore their dads. (I have nothing to compare it to.)
My secret that I may or may not tell David is that, when I found out at 13 weeks of pregnancy that he was a boy, I was crushed. I had been a mom to a girl for 10 years, and it was all I knew. Further, I didn’t have any brothers (or even cousins) close in age to me. All I knew was girl stuff. Barbies. Barrettes.
But of course, David has taught me how to be a mom to a boy, and it’s not so difficult. I’ve learned to build train tracks (and replace the batteries in the trains). I enjoy Thomas the Train videos as much as the next person (if the next person happens to be under age 5.) And of course, there’s the fact that David loves many of the same things I love – particularly singing and listening to music. He’s like me in that he’s outgoing and he loves to perform (and unlike me in that he is EXTREMELY literal and detail-oriented, and has perfect diction.)
On the nights when Tim has class and I’m doing the bedtime routine by myself, after I tuck him in (after stories which seem to take an eternity to read, because he has so many questions and so much commentary on each one), he calls, “Mom, wait! I forgot to give you a kiss and a hug.” (Of course, he’s already given me at least three.) And I go back and get my kiss on the cheek (never on the lips – David doesn’t kiss on the lips), and he settles in to his much-loved bed.
Unless Tim is home, and then I’m chopped liver.