I’m Completely Comfortable Being a Lone Vagine in a House of Peen, Here’s Why

“Wow, 3 boys! Are you trying for a girl now?”

“I bet you wish you had a daughter to do girly things with.”

“Aren’t you going crazy in a house full of boys?”

These are just a few of the comments that I am often faced with when people learn that I’m a mom of 3 boys.  And in case you are wondering, the answers to those questions respectively are: no, not really, and hell to the yes I am going crazy in a house full of boys, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Not just in the cliché sense of the phrase, I mean I truly believe that the universe gave me what I needed, and knew that I’d be a better fit as a boy mom.

That’s not to say that I wouldn’t have loved and appreciated a daughter just the same; I’m not a monster who would reject my baby based on her genitalia. Aside from the fact that genitalia doesn’t always contribute to what society deems as boy or girl qualities, but
for the sake of this article being a light-hearted satire piece, we WILL be discussing certain gender related roles & characteristics as they relate to my life.

The truth is, I’m fine with this fart frat house of poop and dirt, I really am. I mean I could do without all the broken shit, the daredevil death defying stunts and I’d prefer if people in this house didn’t use my decorative towels to wash their balls, but overall, dudes are my people.  Here’s why:

1.  Although I may appear to be a girly-girl and know my way around a Sephora, I’ve been told that my personality is dude-like, and I’m not sure exactly what that means but I guess I’m just waiting for my honorary penis to show up in the mail any day now? Just kidding, I’m actually so tired of looking at penises.

2. Growing up, I always had a lot of dude BFF’s in addition to gal pals, because my dude friends were ridiculous and not afraid to swear, fart and make fun of themselves. I was an active participant in their antics where other young girls at the time were often annoyed or disgusted. (Side note: By adulthood I found more foul-mouthed, funny, like-minded ladies who I love and adore.)

With my dude friends, the laughs were non-stop, the judgement was nil, the drama was non existent and I’m pretty sure they just accepted me as one of their own. Things only got weird when they realized I couldn’t pee standing up and that I wore a bra.

3. I’m totally fine with being the only Queen in this house, unless one of my sons ends up becoming a Drag Performer, in which case I’ll then have someone to turn to for hair,  makeup and fashion advice, so it’s a win-win really.

4. I am no stranger to fart jokes, poop jokes and potty humor.  In fact, I’m a contributor and encourager of said jokes as long as my kids don’t bring them to school and tell their teacher that they learned them from their mama.

(I totally want the credit but I’m not interested in the inevitable phone call home because “Yes Mrs. Stewart, I know it’s inappropriate that my son farted into his lunch box and said ‘boy, this lunch stinks!’ but seriously, how funny is my kid, amirite?” isn’t the response they’re going to be looking for.)

5.  Once upon a time I was a teenage girl and if I had to relive that with a daughter, I’m pretty sure neither of us would survive because HOLY F*CKING HORMONES AND HOE’ING. (Yes I know not all girls are hormonal hoes, but I was, so I wouldn’t expect anything less from my actual spawn.)

6.  Boys usually love their moms no matter how batshit crazy they are, and I’m sure once I’m in menopause I’ll be even more bat shit crazy than I am now, so I’ll need a few kids that will be mostly oblivious to my antics and that won’t commit me when I get a nose ring and pink hair at 65 and decide to move to a tropical island.

(I’ve literally always wanted pink hair and a nose ring and to live on an island, so I’m assuming I’ll choose my 60’s to finally rock that YOLO kind of confidence.)

7. If I had a daughter I’d really have to work on being a better person and an appropriate female role model and ain’t nobody got time for that. My boys just accept me for the piece of shit that I am, and they also won’t tell me when my hair sucks or my outfit is weird. (For now anyways.)  Okay those were all jokes, don’t throw eggs at me. *ducks*

8. I’m assuming that when my sons are a bit older, they’ll appreciate that their mother often has the sense of humor of a pre-pubescent boy? No? Probably not? They’ll find it too hard?

That’s what she said. Ba dom bom ching!

 

 

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