How to Spot the Mother of a Little Boy

In two weeks I find out the gender of my second baby. And it is safe to say I am terrified. Terrified of having a girl that is. Spending the last two years with my wild, rambunctious, energetic boy (seriously energetic, even total strangers feel the need to comment on his "energy") has made me feel like an expert in all things little boy and therefore a total amateur in the girl department. I know nothing about children who can calmly sit and color with crayons. My son has never even sat in a chair, not even while watching TV (which he watches upside down through his legs.)

Yes I am very clearly the mother of a little boy and this is how I know.

I own a toddler leash.

I know all the names of every construction vehicle ever made.

I've had two debit cards and one wedding ring stolen and hidden so well in my own house that I still haven't found them.

I know, for the first time in my life, the names of all the dinosaurs.

I know how to burp on command to make my son laugh in the middle of a tantrum.

I haven't sat down in a year and a half.

I know that crayons are not digestible and come out whole on the other end.

I know how to explain to TSA why my son was running onto an airplane without a boarding pass. (It's because I forgot my leash sir.)

I know that it's ok to eat up to two cups of fertilizer.

I know how to dodge multiple balls thrown at me in rapid succession.

I know how to apologize to an elderly person when my son rips the oxygen mask off their face.

I know exactly when the garbage truck will come to our house every week. I also know the screaming that will ensue should I forget to take my son to see the garbage truck.

I know how to get blood out of multiple surfaces.

I know how to get rocks out of nasal cavities.

I know what to do when someone swallows a worm.

I know how to stop a bloody nose. (My son has a penchant for throwing tennis balls at me while I'm asleep.)

I know how to navigate every grocery store in my town without letting my son glimpse the ball display.

I know how to "'tend you'rea choo choo."

I say things like "it's not nice to toot on other people on purpose."

I know that everything can be made into a car ramp. Furniture, church benches, my belly while I'm trying to do sit ups...

While this list highlights the high energy, dirtiness, and chaos that often accompanies little boys, I do acknowledge that my son also loves baby dolls, the color pink, and especially Hello Kitty. And I also acknowledge that if I do have a girl she might also be a ball-throwing, dirt-eating, garbage-truck-enthusiast as well. But maybe, just maybe, she'll sit and color with crayons.