Keep Good Going

Thanks to New York Life for sponsoring today’s post and encouraging me to tell my story.

Friends, today I have an “Honestly” story for you…and I’m wondering how many of you might have a similar one.  When I was pregnant with Little Crafter, we decided we wanted to find out the baby’s gender at the 20 week ultrasound.  Obviously, I knew that the baby could be either a boy or a girl, but to be honest with you, up until the day of that sonogram I never seriously entertained the possibility that I was carrying a boy.  I didn’t know a single thing about little boys.  I grew up as an only child with seven female cousins.  Little girls were my area of expertise!  So, of course I would have one myself.  I dreamed about all the Mommy-Daughter things we’d do together; I’d share all my favorite things with her and teach her the things my mom taught me.  Sewing.  Cooking.  Art.  All kinds of crafting.  All the things I loved best.

But as most of you already know, that wasn’t the way God chose to write our family’s story.  Instead, at that ultrasound, the tech pointed to a little something and said, “See that?  It’s a boy!”  I was speechless.  Absolutely shocked.  A boy.  What was I going to do with a little boy?  I’m embarrassed even to write this here, but at that moment I struggled to fight back the tears.  I felt like all my plans had just crashed around my feet.  I didn’t know the first thing about raising a boy…would he want to do nothing but play G.I. Joe and army men and video games?  I envisioned endless Saturdays filled with soccer games.  So much for my dreams of sharing my artistic passions and passing them on to another generation.  But I didn’t want to be disappointed, so during the second half of my pregnancy, I worked hard to readjust my expectations and prepare our home and my heart for a son.  We decorated his nursery, I bought cute little man outfits, and by the time my due date rolled around, I was more than ready to have him in my arms.  {In fact, the photo above was taken the day before he was born and you can see I was ready to pop!}

Then, Little Crafter was born.  In that moment, I fell head over heels in love.  The first look at his sweet little face, and he had my heart forever.  The love of a parent for a child is like nothing else in the world.  I knew instantly that I would sacrifice anything and everything for him.  He was my gift, my miracle.  As I watched him grow that first year, my heart was full and I no longer feared raising a son.  Then, something amazing happened.  He turned two, and I started to do little projects with him here and there.  And he loved them.  Anything artistic or crafty captured his attention and he was amazingly focused on the task.  One day I put a paintbrush in his hand, and thus began his love affair with paint.  He wanted to paint anything he could get his hands on…and so we did.  We still do.

And that wasn’t all.  He started following me around in the kitchen and I began offering him small jobs to do to “help” me.  I’d let him stir something or dump the contents of a measuring cup into a bowl.  Before long, he had his own apron, his own chef’s hat, and a love for baking.  He helps me make everything from cookies and cupcakes to beef BBQ and pancakes.  His favorite toys to play with are his fake food {he cooks for his stuffed animals} and some empty boxes and containers he pretends are his own grocery store.

And, believe it or not, last Christmas, I even taught him a basic hand sewing technique which he excitedly used to make felt Christmas tree ornaments to give to his grandparents.  You can see how incredibly focused and attentive he is when he’s crafting!

The past five years of motherhood have taught me oh-so-many lessons, but one of the most important ones was not to put my child in my own box of preconceived notions.  Just because he’s a boy doesn’t mean Little Crafter can’t enjoy and excel at art, crafts, cooking, and even sewing.  And perhaps more importantly, there’s nothing wrong with him loving those things.  Both of my brothers-in-law are top level chefs.  And every man ought to know how to sew a button back on his own shirt, am I right?  Just because my son is my son and not my daughter doesn’t mean he can’t learn to appreciate art and beauty and create it too.  We have bonded in amazing ways through our shared love of art and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And you know what else I’ve learned?  Soccer is fun too.  LC loves to play, and I love to watch him.  Something that didn’t interest me before suddenly becomes fascinating when it’s your kiddo making the kick.

Same with karate.  I never cared about it one bit until it was my little man learning to kick, punch, jab, roll, and defend himself.  When he tests for his next belt in December, I’m going to be *that* mom.  You know, the one screaming and whistling and going a little nutso because I’m so darn proud of him.

I’ve learned to introduce him to many things and let him choose what he loves…then, once he finds it, help him pursue it and not hold back!  I’ve learned to knock down the walls of my preconceived ideas and let LC be LC. What about you?  What lessons have your kids taught you?

Hugs & Glitter,