Boys are harder than girls

The mother of these two boys
will not be having a third

A few weekends ago, we were visited by our friend, an out-of-town mother, and her four kids. Good golly, four kids. (As a side note, I learned that three parents and six children wasn’t much harder than two parents and two children – the best argument for polygamy I’ve seen).

This is one of two families we know with four kids. Let me explain how you get to four children – first, you have three girls and you want a boy. Then you realize how foolish it was to want a boy and quit. It’s the same in both families. Three girls followed by one boy. We have friends with three boys. I can assure you that our friends with three boys are not having a fourth. When you have two boys, you think maybe, just maybe, I can still eke out the energy to handle the little princess I’ve always wanted. But when that third boy comes, you know that if you have a fourth you will probably die.

Boys are harder than girls.

Let’s be clear. Parenting, irrespective of circumstance, is hard. All children are hard. Young girls are hard. They are fickle and demanding. They are irrational. They scream and whine and cry to get whatever ridiculous thing they want.

But young boys take it to a whole different level. Young boys are little monsters. They do everything listed under girls above, plus they destroy stuff. They are violent. Every object becomes a sword to swipe at things or a hammer to smash things with. On top of it all, they have so much energy that they run around until they slam into walls and damage them.

Cody, my little boy, is fearless. There is nothing I can say or do that will stop him from doing whatever knucklehead thing he wants to do. He literally laughs at – when my blood is really boiling – what he should recognize as mortal peril. Naturally, he’s too knuckleheaded to realize that the laughing increases the blood boiling and, in turn, the peril.

Andrea regularly reminds me that Chiara is 6 and Cody is 4 and that we can’t hold the 4-year-old to 6-year-old standards. And that is fair. But me forgetting how hard Chiara was at 4 doesn’t make it pleasant to be around Cody at 4. (Plus I actually do believe Cody at 4 is much worse).

There is also something about birth order. I think it really stinks to be the younger sibling. Cody can’t concentrate long enough to, for example, play golf. So, he isn’t invited to play golf. He has to stay home and smash things while Chiara gets to have all of the fun. As first born, Chiara is (at least at the moment) by-and-large a rule follower. Cody couldn’t give a flip about the rules. He has to carve his own way in life. The point is: if you are going to have a boy, make sure he’s first born.

It’s not all birth order, though. Andrea and I once stayed with my aunt and uncle in Tulsa, where I was a child. In telling Andrea about those early days, my aunt said “He was a perfect little…” there was a dramatic pause to let the listener’s brain fill in the blank, “[expletive].”

Andrea later told me she thought my aunt was going to say “Angel.” Instead of the expletive, she probably could have just said “boy.”