Boys are Different

Watching my little boy play, I can say without a doubt, boys are different than girls.

More than just the obvious separates them.

From just a few months old, he has known to laugh at his own noises, breaking into hysterics when it's time to take a wipe to tooschie and change a diaper. He knows the humor behind a good burp or toot. I think that means we are in trouble 7 years from now.

No one has taught him to play with cars and trucks. He just does. He wakes in the morning talking about them. He rolls and scoots around, running his truck on the table leg, up the wall, on bookshelves, on chairs, the stove. If it's not a car in his hand as he makes his way around the house, it's a ball. Which he is able to throw (er, fling) with incredible force, making it spin its way across the floor. The same goes for blocks.

He explores things in a way I don't recall my girls doing. I hope that's not because I've simply forgotten.

He calls me not "mama," but "mom." The sweetest sound to hear is a baby saying that word for the first time.

Every day I marvel at his differences.