He’s barely awake, his lids still heavy with sleep, but his arms are already reaching for a hug. I happily embrace his warm body and his dreamy smile could melt the sun. “Come on, baby.” I coo. “Time to get up.”
He purrs like a kitten instead of an eleven-year-old boy, and when I untangle myself, he automatically protests, “Noo.”
“Uh uh, no more hugs for you,” I affectionately scold, but then relent and give him one more. “Okay, that’s it. Get up.” I shake him till he giggles, then play time is over and I turn to business. “Your clothes are on the floor. Brush your teeth and get downstairs.” I leave him and hope I don’t have to make a trip back up to wake him again.
My six and nine-year-olds are already downstairs, dressed, finished with their breakfasts and playing Club Penguin on the computer when my oldest sleepwalks into the kitchen and immediately fastens himself to my side. “Mama.”
I love it, like the sick, needy mother I am, and take a moment to lean my head against his before ushering him into his morning routine.
Occasionally, some person has the nerve to say to me, “Oh you have three boys? You know what that means, right? They leave you.” I always respond with a smug smile and say, “Not if you do it right.”
While I believe that, their flip comment still touches a nerve, because to some extent of course, it’s true. Boys love their mommies until they get a wife. Boys are so yummy, delicious and full of affection when they are young, but somewhere along the way, they seem to disconnect. No. That will not do at all.
That’s why I have focused on making my boys ‘mama’s boys,’ and they have pretty much towed the line, but the results do vary.
My little one is a wild child, full of love and energy. He plays the baby – even if he really isn’t one anymore – still preferring mommy’s company to any other. Score! My middle son has got the most spunk and fight in him, but he’s also a clingy little monkey around his mommy’s neck. Score!
But my oldest has by far exceeded my mama boy hopes and dreams. A sentimentalist at heart, wistful at six for who he was at five, he is openly expressive with his emotions and affections and really, really, really loves his mommy. Home run!
Sometimes I worry a little that I’m ruining my boys for all the girls, but, only a little. Because, we all know that the best men are the ones who love and respect their mothers. Eventually, poo poo (sorry it’s the future Jewish grandma in me) my mama’s boys will grow up and leave to have their families of their own.
While I sort of dread the day when my reign comes to a close, I will quietly – although it will be hard to muffle all of my sobbing – step back and do my best to win over their significant others. Really, what else can I do?
Often at the end the day, my oldest son gets off the school bus and runs straight to me, wrapping his arms around me and says, “It’s been six hours since I hugged my mommy.”
My other boys, their competitive natures roused, jump in for the hug.
Oh these boys are going to break my heart.
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