THE MALE GENE
I think any mother of a boy will tell you how interesting (...hysterical and so on) the moment is when you start to
glimpse true 'male' behavior in your little one. This is especially amusing for me, as I grew up with all women, so watching a little boy grow and change into a soon-to-be man is pretty mind boggling. Not to mention, it’s frightening how early it
starts. One day you’re just hanging out with them and it hits you, oh my god, they have the male gene - this is usually about the same time they've figured out that even a loaf of bread can simulate a weapon of some sort, or a truck, and you realize, dear god, it's IN there. (All the mothers of boys are nodding right about now,
as they know what I’m talking about). Now granted this works for both genders
I’m assuming, but as the King is not a Queen, I’m focusing on his gender today.
It seems like an obvious conclusion, you have a boy, he acts
like a boy; he loves a good truck, car, train or sporting event....and of course, he can only think about one thing at a time or else he gets very overwhelmed (I'm talking about my son and my husband, I might add). But in this case, I’m also intrigued by the more subtle and very innate behaviors
that scream ‘man.’ The ones that make me look at the King and see my husband’s
face morphed on top of his - which isn't hard as my son is a dead ringer for his dad (except for the fact that he looks exactly like me. ha!)
For example, at the
ripe age of two and a half, my son is already designed NOT to look for things
(I don’t care what you say, but this trait is innate to the male gender). He’ll
glance around for his toy car, look at me and ask six times in a row, ‘where’s my
car, mamma?’ Maybe if I’m lucky, he'll look around again (staring RIGHT at it) and
then throw his hands up in desperation. If he had the vocabulary I assure you that he would tell me that I’ve clearly moved it and could I please stop moving his
stuff around. Ah yes, the fallback excuse for the inability to find one’s own
things. He does this with pretty
much everything and I’m starting to wonder if this is indeed a male ingrained
trait, or if the mother figure from too early on finds things for the male and
hence hinders their ability to do this for themselves. Trust me, from now on, I
look at the King when he asks for something and I say, ‘no clue, but, I’m sure you’ll find
it.’ Seriously, it's for his own good, or that of his future girlfriend.
Then there is the King when he is around other males, it is
an amazing – and slightly alarming transformation. In mere seconds he turns from my
sweet, focused, endearing little muffin, to a high octane, screaming whirling
dervish of testosterone that punches the air and grunts like a wild boar - whilst maintaining his adorableness of course.
Case in point, he had his best friend over yesterday (just to add to the confusion, they have very similar names and the mother and I spend the afternoon calling our children by the other one’s name) and they spent the majority of the time in the bathroom (seriously, what is it that men find so fascinating about that room?). Each was on his respective potty and you would have thought a summit meeting (on acid) was taking place. They were talking, laughing, squealing and talking in some incoherent animalistic Klingon language that was beyond me, but apparently it was highly amusing to the both of them. Then the King decided his potty could just as well function as a car, and proceeded to drive it along (by his bottom) the bathroom floor. When they finally left the bathroom, after inspecting what each other had done of course, they proceeded to eat pasta as if they were both going to never see food again – this involves shoveling, stuffing and inhaling at rapid speeds. Watching the King eat fills me with fear, as between he and my husband; my food bill in the next ten years is going to skyrocket.
Case in point, he had his best friend over yesterday (just to add to the confusion, they have very similar names and the mother and I spend the afternoon calling our children by the other one’s name) and they spent the majority of the time in the bathroom (seriously, what is it that men find so fascinating about that room?). Each was on his respective potty and you would have thought a summit meeting (on acid) was taking place. They were talking, laughing, squealing and talking in some incoherent animalistic Klingon language that was beyond me, but apparently it was highly amusing to the both of them. Then the King decided his potty could just as well function as a car, and proceeded to drive it along (by his bottom) the bathroom floor. When they finally left the bathroom, after inspecting what each other had done of course, they proceeded to eat pasta as if they were both going to never see food again – this involves shoveling, stuffing and inhaling at rapid speeds. Watching the King eat fills me with fear, as between he and my husband; my food bill in the next ten years is going to skyrocket.
Then there is the King’s 'male' humor. Now granted, he’s a child.
Children find certain things funny that we don’t. However, I’m starting to
realize that he and my husband often laugh at the same things (physical humor
ranks high: falls, spills, trip-ups, and people running into things), which
means either my husband has the brain of a two year old (love you honey!) or
there is something male going on here. They also both have eyes in
the back of their head whereas women are concerned (I’m not the jealous type and
think, let ‘em look; we're all only human!). There is nothing funnier than watching the King
clock a tall blond coming his way (he has a thing for blonds, even though I
know he knows brunettes are far superior). He smiles, he tilts his head down
and looks up batting his eyelashes. Then he stops in the middle of the street,
turns and watches her walk away like she’s holding the greatest dump truck in
the world. I’m telling you, the male gene, it’s a powerful thing.
Then again, my son does clean, help unload the dishwasher and love himself a mean broom, so I must be doing something right.
Happy Friday all.
Happy Friday all.