We have three boys and no girls. Lucia is the only x-chromosome in the house. It’s hard to describe how intense the experience can be. Jennifer Allen has written a stream-of-consciousness about what it’s like to be the mother of three boys. Boys! Give me boys!:
Because when you are the mom of three small boys, who has time for me, myself, or I?
Certainly not you, not now. Right now, you have a six-year-old in a Tae Kwon Do uniform wiggling his top tooth loose with his tongue. You have a three-year-old in an inflatable Hulk costume making farting sounds. You have a six-month-old in a swollen diaper standing in the stroller and chewing on the straps of what was once your favorite and finest Italian silk bra. You have all of them all around you: the sole, freak female in the house, sitting on the potty, pleading, “Can I please, please, have some privacy, please?”
Your boys, these sons, think they have a right to your body morning, noon, and night. If you lock them out of the bathroom, they will panic, shriek, shrill, and cry — as if you have locked them out of your very heart. They will kick the door, thrust themselves against it, and then rattle the doorknob, yelling, “Mommy, Mommy, Mom!”
The writing is good and intense. Take the time to visit the link and read the whole story (free on Salon). Allen, who grew up as the daughter of Hall of Fame NFL coach George Allen, has also published a full book of her stories, Better Get Your Angel On (1989). She is more famous for her memoir Fifth Quarter (2000) of growing up with her father and brothers, one of whom became a US Senator (George) and one of whom ran the Redskins rather poorly as GM (Bruce; neither contract nor trade for Kirk Cousins).
Photo: Lucia Spisiakova. Three boys on the shore of Liptovská Mara.