I got some text messages from the Husband today; it's his day off with the Son and he decided to take him to the local White Trash Paradise (a.k.a. Walmart) and bum around there for a while.
Cool. Have fun, boys.
So the text messages are as follows:
1/3: What the hell is wrong with our kid? I tried to get him coloring stuff and he threw a fit. Get him Cars and he's happier than a pig stuck in shit he
2/3: needs to start using his head let's try to explain to him for coloring is coordination (?). He's your kid man tell ya what if it ain't sparkly or shiny he don't
3/3: want it.
Son enjoys sparkly things, shiny things, high heeled shoes, purses, and his favorite color is pink. He's also a huge drama queen.
One of his favorite pastimes is walking around the house in my stilettos -
at least his favorites are my Nine West pumps, kid's got taste
- and shorts with no shirt with a purse and a necklace.
*Sigh* It's a good thing I wouldn't mind having a gay son. As long as my daughter (if/when I have one) also likes pink and sparkly things. If I give birth to a girl who becomes a tomboy, I will consider my womb a failure.
It's probably my fault anyhow, because when I was cooking my cooter monkey I was wishing for a girl. Hardcore. My uterus granted half my wish, except it gave me a girl with a twig and giggleberries. He even has an almost androgynous look about him. He's got full coral lips, big bright baby blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, and soft baby hair that grows like I put fertilizer on it. I kid you not, monkey boy had a mullet by the time he was 7 months old. I have to cut his bangs usually once every month and a half.
It was hilarious to see the meat and potatoes on the ultrasound, though. :)