Man of the House

My adorable little boy has sudden moments of pure masculinity, where he is overcome by the need to exert his manly influence over my poor femalish self. These moments can be extraordinarily precious: when we read bedtime stories, lying side-by-side in his toddler crib, he will insist on putting his arm around me, and having me rest my head on his shoulder, instead of vice versa. These moments can also be extraordinarily trying: he disdains to wear the cutesy, coordinated outfits I choose for him, and will insist angrily on wearing the same football jersey and jeans for days on end. And when I tell him he can't wear that freaking shirt again because it's disgusting (extra meanness points to me if I remind him that it's because he wouldn't wait for me to cut up his spaghetti), he'll command me to wash it.

We went shopping today, ostensibly to look for clothes. Without skipping a beat, and while ignoring my sugary exhortations to "just look at that beautiful Easter outfit," the bear that is my son dove for the nearest item of clothing with a ball on it. He then glared at me tyranically and stated, "Let's buy it. I'm done." I swear the dislike-of-clothes-shopping gene is expressed ridiculously early. The boys should at least be old enough to buy their clothes before they may start choosing them, right? Right?? Hmph. That's my opinion.

While it may sound strange and not very matronly of me, it can be a comfort to know that I'm not always the one making the decisions and running things around here. At random times, my son says: "I'll take care of you, Mommy," while patting my back, and I know that all of my worldly cares are in the sweet, capable hands of this little boy who loves me more than anything in the world. Even football jerseys.