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Parents adore all of their children, regardless of gender. That should extend to sexual preference and gender identity as well, and I hope one day that it will.
That said, there does seem to be a special bond between parents and their offspring of the opposite sex – dads and their daughters, moms and their sons.
As a mother of two young boys, that latter bond is something I see growing – and that feels so precious to me – every single day.
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My boys love me more than anyone else in the world. Some days, that feels like a lot to bear.
It feels like a lot of weight on my shoulders, a lot of doing everything because they both “want mommy,” and a lot of thinking I’m never going to have time to myself again.
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It also feels like I’m the luckiest person in the world, and that I will never, ever be more loved than I am in this moment.
My boys are wild. They’re rambunctious, they’re loud, and they spend a good portion of every day running around, barely avoiding injury (and sometimes not).
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They spend the rest of their days telling me things, showing me things, wanting me to hold them, giving me hugs, and right before bed, telling me how much they love me.
They do these activities with equal gusto, loving me as hard as they play.
I’ve read (and teared up over) that having a son is like enduring the longest, most painful breakup of your life and I can see that, four years in, is totally, achingly true.
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Someday these small boys of mine will grow into men. They’ll give their hearts to other women (or men), which is exactly how it’s meant to be in this life.
I’ll step aside, feeling a little bit like I’ve lost a part of myself forever, but let’s be honest – I lost that part of my heart the day they were born.
At least I know that, in their hearts, there will always be a little corner reserved for their mama.
