Boys Will Be Boys

It's a whole new ballgame when brother comes along

Nothing in my life prepared me for mothering a son.

Not being a tomboy. Not being raised by a single mother. Not attending a women's college. Not having a half-brother 18 years my junior, being the niece of six uncles, marrying a man with three brothers, or having five nephews.

And most definitely not giving birth to a daughter first!

People like giving advice to the woman who is expecting a baby. Even more, they love to tell the mother of a newborn all the parenting horrors that await her.

Before my son, Berkeley, could even hold up his head, friends and family were comparing him to his older sister, Barcelona. I cannot tell you how many times I was told "boys are different than girls" in that truly annoying, singsong voice.

From the beginning, the differences between my offspring were obvious. Where it took two weeks for Barcelona to become efficient nursing at my breast, her little brother immediately latched on like an old pro. While my daughter slept well whether she was in the crib, car seat or swing from day one, my son preferred only to doze snuggled against me the first three months of his life while my husband snoozed on the couch.

Although my daughter was content to play in an exersaucer or in one spot on the floor, little Berkeley insisted on rolling, sitting and crawling in rapid succession. When he started walking at around 10-1/2 months old, my world changed forever -- before he turned 1, the little guy was running to keep up with his sister.

While I was blessed and both are happy, easygoing children, the differences in their gross motor development has been staggering to say the least. That my daughter -- bless her heart -- continues to be a cautious soul, comes as great comfort in light of my son's reckless disregard for his own safety.

Berkeley quickly outgrew the confines of his bouncer, the swing and exersaucer. Once he could move, he wanted nothing to do with anything that had a buckle. My only saving grace, was when he turned 1 and I was able to switch his car seat around; his constant screaming ceased when finally he could see where it was we were headed.

My son graduated from his high chair to a booster seat when he climbed into a chair and made it clear he preferred to eat at the table. It was not long after when I walked into the room and found him sitting atop that same table -- precariously perched four feet above our tiled kitchen floor -- pawing through a tub of crayons.

It did not take long before Berkeley could climb out of the playpen or onto my and his sister's beds or on the family room furniture like a little monkey. These shifts were taken in stride, but as is often the case with children, once it seemed my son could no longer surprise me, he climbed out his crib. This should not have come as a surprise, but I must have been in denial.

And then, to my horror, he did again! Unlike his sister, whose climbing-out-her-crib adventures were spaced days apart, he barely waited 20 seconds to give it another go.

Frantic, I called my mom friends, sent an e-mail to the pediatrician and posted a message on SacramentoMommas.Com asking "what should I do?" After all, this was not a transition I was prepared to make -- my daughter slept in her crib until she was nearly 3 years old and we needed it for Berkeley!

The responses varied. At least half, including my husband, said "get him a bed"! The other half were just as adamant I not do so.

"Get a crib tent today. He needs to be safe and you need a good night's sleep," one friend wrote.

This response resonated with me. It did not hurt the pediatrician had mentioned the very same alternative in his exhaustive response to my panicked e-mail. I did not hesitate and had the tent assembled and in place by bedtime that evening.

My son did not respond well to the new contraption on his crib and cried himself to sleep the first night. I kept reminding myself I was not ready for bedtime battles with Berkeley nor did I relish the idea of him having full reign of his room after dark. By the end of the week, he made nary a peep when I put him to bed.

"Whew!" I thought and relaxed a bit.

That was until, less than a week later, I turned around from cooking dinner to find he had climbed one of our kitchen barstools and he was reaching for a very large China vase full of flowers -- now five feet above our tiled kitchen floor. Just imagine what I said under my breath then...

Mommy Time Column ~ October 2005