My son likes girls. A lot.
Before I had him, I (raised on feminist tracts and the National Lampoon) was convinced that advertising and cultural striations made us act as we did toward members of the opposite sex. My observations were shaped by the seventies and by memories of pink, penis-shaped bottles of cologne for girls (seriously, do you remember that cologne?), posters of "Nasty" Kinski and the snake, and of course, by the wierd gender-specific things that we do with kids and clothing and toys and recreational activities. I was sure that we were independent, thinking entities, and all of the gender stuff was just societal programming.
And then at five months, I noticed something about my son. He was lying in his little Graco baby bucket, and when an attractive woman would come around, he would circle his little fists around one another and then splay them out adorably - immediately getting an "ahhhhh" from the lady. Hmmn.
I noticed a few other things, too. My son has always liked girls from about 12 to maybe around 32. (I'm 45, but mommies don't count.) He's appallingly charming. And I have a sneaking suspicion that a lot of this stuff might be genetic.
This week, we went to the jumpy houses over on Woodside Road, where the children can romp with the pumpkins and jump their brains out for $12 an hour. We were there to meet a male friend and his little sister, but eventually the male friend had to leave, and when I next looked around, my son had found a new friend. Or three. Three beautiful blonde little girls - two sisters and a friend. My son bonded with the youngest and they had a rollicking time.
It's a bit odd, since about 20 minutes before he and his (male) friend were trying to beat their heads to a pulp in the bouncy house, but there it is. A total shift in gears. And then I heard something shocking. My son leaned over to the second grade girl (What's with all of these second grade girls? He's in kindergarten!), looked at her dreamily, and said "Will I ever see you again?" My eyebrows rose in shock and I glanced at the girl's mom. She'd heard it too, and she thought it was cute as the dickens.
From there, things continued. My son began to pester her for her telephone number, and the little girl obligingly walked up to me and rattled off some numbers. And so goes another day at the park!
Get this. He's got some wings. He loves them. They're neat. Sometimes boys who come over play with the wings, but I've noticed that my (now 6-year old) son has learned to use the darn things like a babe magnet! When a little girl comes over, he'll say "I have wings" and bring them out, and five minutes later the two of them will be romping all over the place wearing wings. Oh Lordy me. When he's 22 he'll be doing this with a romantic CD and ... oh, I dunno. Scented candles? Oh noooooooo. I am prepared for many parts of parenthood, but envisioning your son as a seducer in training is just ... a bit rough.
Don't get me wrong. My son loves rockets and if I didn't have an excellent handle on him, I'll bet he'd be blowing things up in the back yard (in the healthiest possible way, of course). But -- oh! The siren call of little girls.
This first appeared on the Silicon Valley Mom's blog
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