I remembered not long after submitting my last post that I'm acquainted with far too many people with far too little sense of humor. That's why I feel the need to follow up here and assure you: No, I don't really think my son is gay. (Again, I think he's still only, you know, 1, so it's probably a little early to tell one way or the other.)
But, in the interest of presenting both sides of the grime-encrusted coin that is my boogery little toddler's personality, I present to you all the ways that I fear my son may actually be too masculine:
He's fearless. He had barely learned to walk before he decided he was going to be a climber. He thinks baby gates are just another challenge, and if you turn your back on him for a second he'll be halfway up a flight of stairs. He also had owned his tricycle about all of three hours before he decided the best way to ride it was standing on the seat without holding the handlebars. And when the preview for the "Alien vs. Predator" movie came out, he actually giggled at it every time they showed the alien. (And I don't think he was laughing at the bad CGI.)
He's destructive. So, my parents have this nice new house they built only a few years ago, and it's got these gorgeous hardwood floors. My dad loves those floors, and is therefore a walking bundle of nerves every time my son is over to play. It's not that my little monster means to be so damaging to property. He just really loves loud noises. And knocking things over. Or picking them up really high and dropping them. And the more his "poppa" (grandpa) freaks out and tries to stop him from denting up the floors, the more of a game he thinks it is. His favorite trick lately had involved a big plastic bin of those oversized-type legos they make for babies. He pushes the whole bin around while poppa yells about it scratching his floor. Once he has poppa's attention, he picks it up and dumps the whole thing over, shaking it until every big lego has flown out all over the place. Of course, I could stop him, but normally by this point I'm laughing too hard at the panic attack my dad is having.
He's a jock. To explain a little here, my kid is huge. I've mentioned before (and you can tell by the post), he was an 8-pound preemie. Well, his growth hasn't slowed down any. At his last check-up he was 90th percentile weight, 95th height, and 97th head circumference (he's got a big old noggin). His abnormally large size comes in handy when he's doing things like dunking on his kid-sized basketball goal, tackling daddy for a football, or picking up my poor, patient maine coon cat. He's equally rough-and-tumble at school, frequently coming home with splinters or scrapes from playground adventures. I hope his enthusiasm for athletics continues into adulthood, or at least long enough for him to go to college on a sports scholarship.
When he was a little baby, if he got hungry and you didn't get his bottle ready fast enough, he would headbutt you. Yeah, not a lot of explanation necessary there. From the time he was strong enough to hold his head up (I guess around 8 weeks or so), he would headbutt you in the sternum while you were getting his bottle ready. He actually caught my stepmom off-guard one time and gave her a black eye. And "My 2-month-old grandson did it," has to set some sort of record for "least believable excuse for a black eye".
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