I have a confession to make. I was once the mom who aimed to raise mama’s boys. There was something so satisfying about their dependence on me. I reveled in the late-night escapades of soothing a child from a nightmare or juggling the needs of my three boys at once. It was a badge of honor to refuse offers of help, dragging all of them along to doctor visits or errands, just to maintain my sanity. I found myself preparing three separate dinners, picking up after them because it was easier, and tying shoelaces for my ten-year-old.
Every time they asked, “Can you get me a snack? Can you help with my backpack?” my enthusiastic response was always, “Yes! Mommy can!” And indeed, I did. I was their go-to for cutting crusts off sandwiches, whipping up the perfect scrambled eggs, and ensuring their favorite Spiderman shirt was always clean. In those moments, it felt like I was whispering, “Never leave me!” while tucking them in at night.
Was it dysfunctional? Absolutely. Would I change it? Probably not. We were a happy, needy family, and I cherished that bond. Yet now that my boys are 6, 9, and 12, my perspective has shifted.
I can’t help but envision my boys at 35. Living at home, of course. Imagine the chaos: hair scruff in the sink, dirty laundry strewn about, and loud snoring echoing from every room. I might choke on fumes or die of embarrassment when they barge in demanding justice over a stolen hair gel or the last bag of Doritos. My solution? A cot by the washing machine might be in order. Forget about enjoying a peaceful cup of coffee; I’d be busy rousing them for work—if they even had jobs—and making eggs in every conceivable style.
The allure of raising mama’s boys has suddenly dimmed. So, I’ve started loosening those apron strings, encouraging more independence. My boys are now getting dressed on their own, tidying up after themselves, and even tackling homework without my constant reminders. They handle chores like taking out the recyclables and emptying the dishwasher. They know what’s expected of them, and they usually—well, sometimes—rise to the occasion.
It’s a gradual process, but I’m confident we’re on the right path. Children naturally grow, and it’s our job to guide them toward responsibility before nudging them out into the world. Of course, they’re still required to check in regularly, visit often, and only consider marrying someone I approve of. While I no longer seek to raise mama’s boys, the idea of nurturing mama’s men might just be the happy medium I need.
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In summary, while I once reveled in the thought of raising mama’s boys, the reality of adulthood has made me rethink that vision. With a gentle push toward independence, my boys can grow into responsible men, creating a balance between nurturing and allowing them to thrive.