Messy Minded Momma

Not in my “boy mom era”… but a boy mom, through and through.

This past weekend, we were invited to one of my son’s friend’s sister’s 3rd birthday party. It was a Frozen-themed party complete with Ana and Elsa, piggy polish, a coronation ceremony for the birthday girl, singing, and a dance party with scarves. A party that the little-girl version of me would have absolutely died for. There were a few boys who joined in on the shenanigans… but my son was not one of them.

While I’ve always described myself as a girly girl rather than a tomboy, I’m not entirely sure that’s true.

Yes, I played with Barbies, Polly Pockets, and Cabbage Patch dolls. I wore pink, loved butterflies, and lived for anything with sequins or glitter. But as a teenager, I didn’t exactly prioritize fashion or makeup. Internally, I was boy crazy. Externally? No one taught me how to dress for my body type or how to apply mascara.

It wasn’t until grade 12 that my “look” finally came together: mascara, concealer, bronzer, and ChapStick. And honestly… it’s still the same almost 20 years later. The only upgrade? Eyebrow powder, which I added around 2014 to fill in my ultra-thin, over-plucked 90s brows.

As an adult, I still live in hoodies and leggings (or trackpants) on the weekends. My version of pampering is sugaring, a mani/pedi, and the occasional massage when my shoulders can’t take the tension anymore. I rarely wear jewelry, I hate high heels, and the only dress I’ve worn as an adult was on my wedding day.

Simply put: I am not the girly girl I thought I’d be. But I’m not exactly a tomboy either.

I don’t play sports. I don’t love outdoor adventures. I can’t change a tire, and I will absolutely ask my husband to pump my gas.

My insides do not match my outsides.

So when I found out I was pregnant, I naturally assumed I’d be raising a little girl. Someone who matched the version of motherhood I had always imagined. My Amazon cart was full of princess onesies, Disney stuffies, and dreamy nursery decor. I had plans. A soft pink room with white clouds. I was ready. I couldn’t wait for a little girl to dress up with, to shop with, to get manicures with.

At 20 weeks, when we found out we were having a boy… I cried. Not because I was disappointed, but because I was unprepared. I hadn’t even imagined what it meant to be a boy mom.

Don’t get me wrong, when my son was born, I experienced a love I didn’t even know was possible. I thank God every day that he chose me to be his mom. And somewhere between those first cuddles and all the chaos that followed, time moved faster than I ever expected. Now here we are, almost five years later, deep in the thick of boyhood… and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I build LEGO. I race Hot Wheels. I shoot Nerf guns. I know more about monster trucks, superheroes, and WWE than I ever thought I would. We play sports, run wild, and roughhouse. We dutch oven each other and laugh at poop jokes. We scrape knees, pick noses, and rarely sit still.

It’s pure chaos. But it’s the best kind.

This weekend was no exception. Which is exactly how we ended up spending a Frozen birthday party outside playing soccer. When we were inside, my son was running wild on sugar with his friends. And I hate to admit it… but I wasn’t exactly in my element either.

Not having a little girl meant letting go (pun intended) of the version of motherhood I once imagined: dolls, princesses, fashion, and fully stepping into my son’s world. A world that is louder, messier, and way more active than I ever pictured for myself. But also way more fun!

I know more about sports than I ever have. I spend time outside even though I used to hate it. My days are filled with movement, noise, and dirt. And somehow… it fits me better than I expected.

Because maybe I was never as “girly” as I thought. Maybe I just hadn’t met the version of myself that raising a boy would bring out. Being a boy mom isn’t what I planned…but it turns out, it’s exactly who I was meant to be.