I’m not gonna lie. I was pretty stoked to have a boy. I wasn’t sure how I’d relate to having a daughter. Pink, sparkles, dolls…you know, girly stuff. I mountain bike. I backpack. I grab adventure by the neck and take *it* for a ride. Well, I did six years ago. Now, I beg it to bring me along for the ride whenever I have a free moment from homeschooling, making smoothies and playing and replaying the soundtrack to The Sound Of Music. I mean, don’t get me wrong…I can be feminine. I wear lipstick with Chacos. I put skirts on…with bike related t-shirts and skull socks. I wear pigtails…when my hair’s long enough…that counts, right? It’s there…I swear. Sort of.
You see, that little boy I had…he and I are a little different. He has mountain biked with me since he was four…but every move is calculated. He backpacks with me…in a Hello Kitty camisole. He has long, sweet talks with adventure…trying to reason with it. You know what, though? I love that little boy, pink sparkles and all. I love thrifting for him…coming across the “perfect” accessory to his latest ensemble. I love taking him to dance class and chatting it up with the other dance mamas and papas. I have spent more time searching for the “perfect” pair of shoes for him than I have for my entire wardrobe. And I LOVE it.
Every day, though, we find more and more that brings us closer. We appreciate each other. We value our differences. We look for common ground. We enjoy the moment we are in. And this is all with a six year old. I don’t want to wish his childhood away…but I really hope that this bond we have carries on. I hope it carries through his teens…into adulthood…and goes to my grave with me. I never knew I could do this. I never knew I had it in me. God…I love this kid.