Boy Mom

I’m one of those self proclaimed #boymoms. Like, it’s in my Instagram bio and I have the t shirt. Truthfully, I’m just trying to figure out how to be a mom in general, never mind a “boy mom.” In fact, I’m not even sure if I’ve earned that badge yet. That was until today.

I had a moment where time froze and I was transported to a future me. I was getting ready to fold and put away Beau’s clean laundry when I noticed that several of his onesies still had stains on them. I brought the shirts downstairs to launder them more thoroughly. I got the word launder from the back of the Shout bottle. Yeah, I had to read the directions. It’s been a while since I’ve used the stuff. Honestly, I think the only reason I have a bottle is because that’s what all adults have, right? As suspected I’ve been using Shout wrong throughout the brevity of my adult life.

I began to “launder” each shirt and while I was doing so, I tried to diagnose the stains. Some were outlines of milk that most likely dribbled down Beau’s shirt as he chugged from his sippy cup and simultaneously spit milk out. Others looked like the remnants of his favorite foods like pasta sauce and blue berry pancakes. Although, a mild encumbrance, these stains tell a story of a little boy. And they will only evolve. Some day they will be grass stains and blood splotches from scrapped knees and elbows. This is when began to see my life unfold in front of me. This is when I truly saw myself as a boy mom. And then fear sunk in, I realized that I really need to learn how to do laundry better in order to successfully combat boyhood.

My boy is blossoming and experiencing the world around him and I have a dirty hamper of clothes to prove it. Some how I feel as though doing Beau’s laundry will always keep me connected to him. Maybe this is why Moms know everything after all.

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