To Raise a Little Man

So I suppose it’s about time for the big gender reveal….. I am actually a man.

Ha, just kidding. I am all woman. Except for the little 15 ounces growing in my belly.

Yes, my baby is a boy. YAY! A boy is what I’ve always wanted. But you know what they say: be careful what you wish for.

While the ultrasound technician was roaming around for the evidence of a teeny tiny penis on my baby, I was mainly ecstatic about the fact that he had two arms and legs. I know that seems like kind of a minor concern when there is the question of gender, but, ya know. It’s a little bit easier to do things with all your appendages. Anyhoo, the Babe was in a pose that could either mean he is ready to be a Prima Ballerina, or he’s just waiting to hold up his future NASCAR trophy. I’m not quite sure which thought is more disturbing to me.

When the technician pointed out his little testes, I had mixed feelings of elation and slight disappointment. ‘Tis true I wanted a boy, and I still do, but the idea of such absence of sparkles and ruffles in my future child’s life gave me pause. The only hope is that he may one day be a famous drag queen, because we know then there will be sequins and makeup aplenty.

After my appointment, I got to thinking about the problems I may have in raising a little man. (Other than the fact that my Rockstar wants to name him Vince, after Vince Neil of Motley Crue- a problem which need be addressed another day.)

What do I know about being a man? My coworker insists I am quite manly, indeed, so I shouldn’t have a problem, but I believe he only thinks so because of my appreciation for much sex, a subject we have talked about at great length. Honestly, I’m not quite sure why else he would find me masculine, unless my cursing sailor’s mouth convinced him. Who knows….

What I DO know is that I want my boy to read, and read a lot. I realized that other than blogland, there has been quite an absence of men that read in my actual real life. Sure, here and there, a male that loves books as much as I do has reared his head, but it’s been a disturbingly rare phenomena, like Loch Ness monster sightings. I’ve gone away wondering if I actually saw what I saw, kinda thing. I myself do not find reading to be a solely feminine act, but, you must admit, it doesn’t exactly go with beer and hot wings.

Aside from that, I want my son to be sensitive. Not meaning I want every drop of rain and flower petal to bring him to tears, but that if he sees someone in pain, or having a bad day, he will take notice, and perhaps try to better that person’s situation. Along with that, I want him to treat women like princesses, even though by the time he is old enough to think about girls, most of them will probably be sluts and/ or lesbians (in which case, he might get his ass kicked if he tries to treat them like princesses.. All girls should be made to feel special, even if they are only subpar.

I want him to have self-confidence, but not the yucky jock kind. I mean the kind that will allow him to not be bothered when his mother grows out his hair and people tease him for looking like a girl. The kind that allows him to be proud of himself, and teach others to also be proud of themselves.

If he marries, I want him to have at least a slight interest in planning his own wedding someday, whether it be to a girl or a boy. We all know the best boys are the ones that take an active role in such things, and are generally worshipped among women.

If he doesn’t marry, I want him to be happy in whatever life he chooses, and to have many adventures.

I want him to say what he means, and mean what he says, and not be afraid to say what it is that needs to be said, but know when to stay silent.

I want him to know it’s perfectly ok for him to like Barbie dolls, and to admire their exaggerated feminine features, but to realize that real women that look nothing like Barbie dolls are also desirable. I also want him to like dinosaurs, and realize they are the coolest creatures ever to live. (Besides for mermaids and unicorns.)

I want him to be just a little bonkers, because all the best people are.

I honestly don’t know how I will help my son to become this man I want him to be; luckily, I may be able to help him out in the bonkers department.

When I Was A Kid

When I was a kid, my friend and I loved to play Barbies. She had at least 50 Barbies, the Barbie Corvette, Dreamhouse, and a buttload of Ken Dolls for Barbie to choose from. I, on the other hand, had one Barbie with a perm,(which turned into a rat’s nest after I took her in the bathtub) a Theresa doll, (Barbie’s brunette friend), and a mini Care Bear that I had to use as Barbie’s boyfriend. (Didn’t know Barbie was in to bestiality, did ya?) My friend and I would spend hours upon hours trying to figure out the mechanics of a boy/girl relationship with our Barbies (fortuneately, neither Barbie nor Ken were anatomically correct, so our innocence stayed intact) and dancing our Barbies away on the roof of her Barbie Dream House. How things have changed.

This morning, my Rockstar’s Daughter begged me to play Barbies with her. Sadly, despite my amazing imagination, my attempts at Pretending are not what they used to be. Instead, I rely on the Daughter to provide the story line. Imagine my surprise when my two Barbie sisters were invited to a dance, where they were then beat down and humiliated by the Barbie host. Barbies are so volitile nowdays…

November the 1st

Happy November, my Lovelys! I have decided that this day shall hereafter be proclaimed a worldwide Sparklebumps holiday, along with the day after Thanksgiving, the Saturday before Halloween, and my birthday. Today shall be called Half-Off Candy Day. Yes, I no longer shall feel bitter about the diminutive bowl of candy that my Rockstar nefariously stole from me, AFTER I stole it from his work party, because I have just come from the Aisles of Target, where all Halloween candy has been marked down for my convenience.

I was going to attempt a trip to Walmart, since their Aisle of Candy dwarfs any other retail store’s, but I was not fully prepared to have my eyes assaulted by Walmartians today. So off to Target I went, where customers of every ilk were zooming the Halloween aisles, preparing for next year’s Monster Bashes. I weasled my way through carts with squalling babes, and old women sorting through the pumpkin-shaped cookie cutters, to procure exactly 7 bags of the best and most saliva-inducing treats. I realized that I should have gotten a cart, or at least one of those annoying little basket things that weigh a ton after you have placed one item in them.

I was slightly flustered by the Halloween Edition Barbie that my eyes beheld, as the box she was in proclaimed “HALLOWEEN TREAT! BARBIE”. I looked closer and saw no candy included with Barb; the only “treat” I could almost see was the one that was beneath her disturbingly short puff skirt- this is a time when I am gladdened that Barbie is not quite anatomically correct. However, I feel that they should have placed Barbie’s treat in the Man Aisle, because any woman who would buy for her kid a Barbie that was dressed to turn tricks should be shot.

Anyhoo, as I made my way to the front of the store, with my arms laden down with my sugary loot, I noticed people staring. I’m not sure if it was my greasy hair that I didn’t have time to wash before going to town, or the fact that I was carrying enough candy to feed Australia. But I raised my chin up in an act of defiance at their judgemental stares, and proceeded to the checkout, where I received the same look from the girl behind the counter. I said, “What? I like candy. And this is just enough for me. If I had to share, there would be more.”

P.S. My Rockstar has let me know that he does not wish to know the amount of candy I bought.