Like a secret society, boy moms everywhere bragged the same
line lie: “Boys are easier.”
Easier, they said.
Less drama, they said.
What they didn’t say was that I’d be on high alert, acting like a one-woman SWAT team.
Every boy mom I’ve ever met had me wholeheartedly believing I was boarding the express train to ‘Easier-ville’.
I’m now convinced there was some fine print I overlooked.
Since when did “less drama” involve so much… tactical gear?
This post is all about being a boy mom (realistically).
Table of Contents
Boys Are Easier, They Said)
When I first held Noah, I naively envisioned calmer playdates and fewer unexpected messes (jokes on me).
To be fair, for the first nine months, Noah was the most chill and laidback of our three kids.
So, it seemed he fit the narrative I’d been sold by friends in real life (and online).
If you’re a first-time boy mom, particularly after having girls, BOYS ARE ANYTHING BUT EASY.
Sorry, was I yelling in caps lock?
Honestly, while my little guy’s busy playing the knight in shining armor with my groceries and shoes (not that I’ve trained him or anything), he’s also secretly gearing up for the NFL with that linebacker sneak-attack energy.
And having two older sisters means Noah has learned a trick or two outside the “typical boy” playbook I originally expected.
Between our three kids and a decade-plus with my husband, our home is a constant chaos, laughter, and the frequent “why is this sticky?” mystery.
Yes, I KNOW there’s a richness in these unexpected moments, reminding me daily that predictions are mere guesses.
And while the boy mom gospel might’ve missed a few chapters, I wouldn’t trade my reality for anything.
But for all of my new boy moms…let’s get real.
Behind Every Calm Baby is a Tornado Waiting to Erupt
In a past life, quite literally two years ago, I was exclusively a girl mom.
I’ll be the first to admit that being a girl mom perfectly fits me: every tulle, impromptu dance session, and endless adventures of the sisterly sort.
While my husband was racking overtime hours that could make any sane person weep, our oldest, Mya, and I were always on the go.
Matching outfits with my copy/paste mini-me were our signature look, and every journey with her little hand in mine felt like an episode straight out of “Around the World in 80 Days.”
Except, it was just our town, and honestly, some days, we barely made it around the block.
We’ve had binge-watching sprees that may or may not have included several reruns of Totoro and Spirited Away (way past bedtime).
Next came Mariah.
Our very own songbird was born — with a flair for drama and a wardrobe to match.
Mariah made her stance clear on the sunny shores of Florida, now with us both working from home.
There would be no personal space.
She’s the first to remind me how vital ‘face-time’ is – especially when she’d use my face as her personal teddy bear during nap time.
It’s impressive how someone so small can command such a presence.
When Sharing Means Screaming
You know how they say every pregnancy is unique?
Well, with Noah, it wasn’t just a different chapter; it was an entirely different book.
Whereas Mya and Mariah’s arrivals had their own tales, Noah’s dramatic entrance to the world was like the opening scene of an action movie.
And, honestly, he hasn’t dialed down the theatrics since.
Now, Noah and Mariah looking so much alike can be deceiving.
You’d think they’d have the same serene personalities, but no.
Noah has his own, let’s say, “distinctive” ways of doing things, like “hide and seek” – except it’s usually with things we’re not trying to find.
One day, it’s hiding Mariah’s travel cup under the couch while simultaneously keeping her at a distance so she can’t reach it…
The next, it’s… my bra (yes, you read that right).
In literally two milliseconds, he sent my bra soaring onto our 30-foot ceiling fan.
And the best part?
The nonchalant look he gave me afterward.
As if he was saying, “Isn’t that where it’s supposed to go?”
In Noah’s world, it’s all about innovation: like his applesauce artwork splattered on the [another] ceiling in the sunroom.
Noah added his own splash of color to our family, and it’s a hue I never knew we needed.
Though I might invest in a bra lock.
Just in case.
Glitter, Grass Stains, and Groceries…in that Order
But here’s where it gets interesting.
My boy, Noah, has defied all my parenting expectations.
I mean, he’s decided to start potty training at one!
(His decision, not mine, mind you.)
It’s happening light-years faster than it did with my girls.
I’m here (two months in) just trying not to miss the memo, and an additional lie that boys are harder to potty train than girls.
Noah, bless his heart, loves to help out.
He insists on carrying groceries every time I step into the kitchen.
He’s even taken it upon himself to relieve me of my shoes, a task I never asked him to do.
And honestly, it’s surprisingly helpful, especially when my arms are full of bags, and my hubby is deep in code in his office.
He’s always itching to take out the trash, help feed our dogs, and is completely obsessed with our vacuum cleaner.
All the while, my girls sit on the couch or pick out which snack to eat instead of helping unload the groceries.
This post was the truth about being a boy mom.
If you’ve made it this far, if nothing else, I hope this post made you feel better about your own parenting game!
Either way, thanks for chuckling at my expense (I’m looking at all the boy mom friends who fooled me).
Being a boy mom is basically the helm of chaos central.
Every day is a surprise, and not always the ‘found-a-twenty-in-my-jeans’ kind.
Yet, every unexpected mess and mad dash to save the furniture (or my sanity) is honestly a treasured moment in disguise.
If you ever need a reminder that your own life isn’t that messy, follow me on Instagram: @victoriavadenking.
There’s no filter for life’s sticky moments!
For more of my misadventures and “expert” parenting tips:
- How Inconsistency Made Me a Terrible Mom
- A Love Letter to the Unorganized, Lazy Mom of Spilled Milk
- 7 Mom Hacks I Will Never Apologize For
So whether you’re discovering new ways juice can stain a carpet or playing detective to find out where the latest missing toy has been hidden, just know you’re not alone.
Believe it or not, these chaotic blips will someday be the stories we laugh about during family dinners or share with future generations.
The heart of parenthood, messy as it might be, is filled with love, laughter, and life lessons.
Here’s to navigating the unpredictable waves, embracing the spills and thrills, and cherishing the perfectly imperfect moments of parenting.
And always have a mop handy.