Pink bows. Twirling dresses. A little “mini me.”
The second I saw those two pink lines, I pictured the version of motherhood I thought I’d have. I grew up with a sister, and mostly girl cousins. I love makeup and dresses and all the girly things.
I imagined dance recitals or softball games, whichever she chose. Late night talks in the kitchen, sharing clothes, teaching her how to do her makeup. Watching her grow into her own kind of strong.
I imagined navigating the teenage years and coming out the other side closer. I imagined the kind of relationship that shifts from mother and daughter to two women who genuinely enjoy each other.
And my husband would have been the sweetest girl dad. Tea parties, letting her paint his nails while pretending he hated it, daddy/daughter dances all dressed up.
Then I heard, “Congratulations, it’s a boy.”
And then I heard it three more times.
Just like that, the picture in my head shifted.
And if I’m honest, the hardest part wasn’t trucks instead of tiaras.
It was the future.
There’s this saying: “A daughter is your daughter for life. A son is your son until he finds a wife.”
Even Scripture says a man leaves his mother and father and cleaves to his wife. That’s how it should be. I believe that, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t scare me.
We celebrate daughters who stay close to their mothers.
But when a son does the same, it’s often seen as something that needs to be corrected.
A close mother daughter bond is cherished.
A close mother son bond? Sometimes it’s subtly discouraged.
Somewhere along the way, I realized my fear wasn’t about missing out on bows.
Maybe the life I thought I wanted wasn’t really about having a daughter.
Maybe it was about wanting to feel needed forever.
It was about wondering if there would still be room for me later.
Right now, being a boy mom is loud and hilarious and exhausting and so, so sweet. I love watching them play sports. I love their energy. I even love that they keep me young (although I could live without the grocery bill and the lack of cute clothes).
I cannot imagine my life without these four boys.
But motherhood doesn’t stop when they turn 18.
And yes, I will be thrilled the day they find someone they love.
I pray they marry strong, kind, beautiful souls. I pray I get to welcome the people they love into this family.
If I’m honest, there’s still a small part of me that wonders what that season will look like.
Not because I want to compete.
Not because I don’t believe a man should leave and cleave.
But because a huge part of who I am is being their mom.
So instead of holding tighter, I’m learning to build differently.
I want a relationship with my boys that’s strong enough to stretch.
I want a home that feels safe enough that they’ll always want to come back. Not out of obligation, but because it still feels like home.
I didn’t get the motherhood I imagined.
But I did get the one that is shaping me.
Maybe part of that shaping is learning to love deeply and hold loosely.
Maybe motherhood isn’t about getting the version we pictured.
Maybe it’s about building something strong enough that, no matter where life takes them, they know exactly where home is.
And that’s something I can work on today.
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