ORIGINALLY POSTED ON YODELINGMAMAS.COM
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In the past few months, being the mom of two little boys has been… well, painful at times. Among us we’ve suffered from a scratched cornea, a broken nose (mine), a sliced-open finger, two split lips and three shiny forehead knots (the imprint of my son’s block is still on my hairline as I type).
At just 3-1/2 and 13 months, my boys spend their days daydreaming about—and practicing for—their debut on the football/soccer/baseball/you-name-it field. They can’t tackle, run or jump enough. Whenever I start to reprimand my older son for being too rough with the baby, I hear the little guy’s belly laugh and realize that it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. It’s just boys being boys.
And though I’m not particularly girly, I’m no tomboy either. I’ve played more non-water sports in the past three years than I did my entire pre-kids life. Anything to see those boys smile! And not only do I get a ton of exercise chasing my boys around, I get the benefit of being there when they’ve exhausted themselves and just want to be held by their mommy. Even if those hugs come in the form of headbutts, nothing is better in my sometimes-black eyes.
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