By: Jenna Parker
Updated: June 26, 2017
Originally Published: Dec. 3, 2014
I have a little secret to share. I used to be the mom who wanted to raise mama’s boys. There was something endearing about how dependent they were on me. I found joy in tending to their needs, and even relished those chaotic moments at 2 AM when I would be up nursing a baby, comforting a child who had a nightmare, and helping another to the bathroom. I took pride in being the one who could do it all; I would pile all three of my boys into the car for doctor visits, avoiding carpools to maintain my own brand of organized chaos. Every evening, I catered to their individual meal preferences, picked up their toys for ease, zipped jackets at five, and tied shoes at ten.
Their requests were endless: “Can I have a snack? Can you pack my backpack? Can you, can you, can you…?” My enthusiastic response was always, “Yes! Mommy can!” and indeed, I did. I was the only one who would cut off crusts, whip up the perfect scrambled eggs, or ensure that their beloved Spiderman shirt was clean for daily wear. I might as well have whispered, “Don’t ever leave me!” while tucking them in at night.
Was it a bit dysfunctional and codependent? Absolutely. Would I change a thing? Probably not. Because in those moments, we were a happy, needy bunch, and it felt right. But now, as my boys are 6, 9, and 12, my perspective has shifted.
Suddenly, I can picture them at 35—still living at home, of course. There would be scruffy hair in the sinks, dirty laundry strewn about, and the constant soundtrack of loud snoring from their bedrooms. I can almost see myself gasping for air due to the aftermath of gas or feeling mortified when they burst in on me, arguing over hair gel or the last bag of Doritos. I might even end up sleeping next to the washing machine just to escape the chaos.
And I certainly wouldn’t have the luxury of savoring a quiet cup of coffee in the morning; I’d be busy waking them up for work—if they had jobs—and preparing eggs in a multitude of ways. The allure of raising mama’s boys began to fade.
So, I’ve started to loosen my grip a bit, granting them more independence and responsibilities. Nowadays, my boys can dress themselves, wash up, and tie their own shoes. They complete their homework without constant reminders, handle recycling, and even empty the dishwasher. They’re getting better at putting their clothes away. Well, usually. Okay, sometimes. But it’s a work in progress.
Because now I understand: you can’t disrupt the natural order. Children grow, and it’s my job to guide them toward responsibility before nudging them out into the world. But of course, they still need to call me daily, visit often, and marry only the girls I approve of. While I may not want mama’s boys anymore, I could certainly settle for mama’s men.
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In summary, raising boys who are independent and responsible is a journey filled with love and challenges. While I once cherished being their everything, I’m learning to embrace their growth into self-sufficient individuals, allowing them to thrive while still being a guiding presence in their lives.