As a little girl, I envisioned myself as the mother of two sweet daughters, dressed in pink Polly Flinders frocks, complete with white tights and shiny black shoes. I imagined them quietly playing for hours with Dressy Bessy and Mrs. Beasley. In my daydreams, we would shop for the Barbie Townhouse, sell Girl Scout cookies, solve Nancy Drew mysteries, and debate which Hardy Boy was the cutest—Frank or Joe.
Fast forward to reality: I’m the proud mom of three rowdy boys.
I’ll be real; my childhood fantasies of motherhood didn’t include:
- Stocking up on Shout, Gatorade, and Goober by the case.
- The constant threat of a toilet bowl dive.
- Scrubbing urine off the walls—seriously, boys?
- Stepping on those deceptively tiny, yet incredibly painful Lego pieces. Just one outfit needed for that!
Despite the chaos, having three boys has its perks:
- Leftovers? What are those?
- No one ever begs to wear a shirt that reveals his belly.
- Packing for summer camp is a breeze—same clothes every day!
- I can avoid the chaos of boys’ locker rooms.
- When friends visit my not-so-tidy home, I can just shrug and say, “Well, I live with three boys and a St. Bernard. What did you expect?”
But let’s not sugarcoat things. Being a single mom of three boys is not without its hurdles. The ongoing underwear saga is a never-ending battle.
At an early age, my boys embraced nudity as if it were a sport. They would jump around playing Wii tennis completely in the buff, plopping their bare bottoms on the kitchen stools, asking, “What’s for lunch?” And while engrossed in cartoons, they’d sway with their backsides facing the window, much to the surprise of passing cars. I finally had to lay down some ground rules: “No underwear, no Wii.” “No underwear, no tree climbing.” “No underwear, no zip line.”
When my youngest attended summer camp, we had a heart-to-heart about the importance of coming home in his own underwear—not someone else’s! Boys in a rush often snatch the nearest pair lying around. To this day, that same child brings home random wet underwear he finds in locker rooms, sleepovers, or even at water parks. He has a heart of gold, but I can’t take in any more strays!
One day, my middle son, at age nine, decided he needed Under Armour underwear for basketball. I learned they were basically Spanx for boys, keeping everything in place. I was on board, as I’m not a fan of jiggling either.
After the purchase, he proudly modeled the snug shorts and exclaimed, “Look! It has a pocket right here!” He then dramatically pulled out a semi-melted Chapstick, announcing, “Tah-dah!” I was impressed and suggested, “You could even stash a couple of bucks in there!”
My youngest piped up, “Yeah, but imagine being at McDonald’s and being fifty cents short for fries and saying, ‘Hold on, I’ve got two quarters in my underwear. Just gotta dig for them?’”
“Oh. My. Gosh!” exclaimed my twelve-year-old from another room. “You guys are such dorks! That pocket is for a cup—ya know, to protect your… jewels!” Wow, a cup had honestly never crossed my mind!
For soccer, my son needed compression shorts—basically tight underwear. In the store without my glasses, I turned to a lanky teen wearing his pants so low I could see his Batman boxers. “How do I know which pair he needs?” I asked.
“Well,” said the teen, “these are sized for someone needing a six-inch or nine-inch.”
“Oh,” I stammered, “I have no idea. He’s in fourth grade—just moved into husky sizes. But… six or nine inches? I haven’t seen a live one in a while…”
“Ma’am,” said my helpful store clerk, “I’m referring to the inseam.”
Raising three boys as a single mom isn’t always easy, but honestly, I think I have the upper hand. As the mother of three boys, I feel lucky that my worries only pertain to three penises. Moms of girls have to think about ALL the penises out there! So buying Goober by the case isn’t all that bad after all.
For more insights on parenting, check out our related post on how to navigate home insemination, and for those interested in the nitty-gritty details of parenting and insemination, Make a Mom is a great resource. Additionally, the March of Dimes offers excellent guidance on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, being a boy mom might not be what I envisioned as a child, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The laughter, the chaos, and the learning moments are all part of this wild ride called motherhood!