It's a ... boy?

Zak has me flabbergasted on a regular basis. This started no later than the day he was born, when I found out that he was, in fact, a he.

I'd opted not to find out the sex beforehand, and while I knew there was a 50/50 chance of having a boy, I'd not really wrapped my mind around the idea. My parents had three girls, but no boy, and my mother has no brothers. Sadly, my father's mother passed long before I was born, so there were no mothers of boys in my family to consult.

When presented with my beautiful boy, I responded, "I have a son?". But in my defense, there were some serious medications involved (more on that later). What wasn't involved, not even a little, was a preference for a particular sex. Both sexes come with their own flavors of crazy, and while some things are easier for parents of boys, some things are definitely harder, so it's really six of one, half dozen of the other. I need not worry about Zak coming home pregnant one day, but I would be heartbroken if he'd gotten some girl pregnant when neither was prepared to be a parent. There are no ruffled or lacy clothes to try to keep clean, but finding well-made and comfortable boys' clothes isn't exactly a cakewalk.

I want my son to be the man his father pretended to be. Zak should learn to ride, shoot, and tell the truth. He should also learn to cook, knit and sew, for even if he never picks up another needle or gives a sidelong glance at a frying pan, to know how well-made garments are constructed and how to feed yourself are essential skills. He should be man enough to cry, and respect himself enough not to do so on national television. He should learn to pray, and learn enough to know when prayer is all you can or should do, and when more ought to be done.

Raising a man is definitely going to be a challenging task, but as I used to tell my now ex-husband, I didn't sign up for easy.