At some point in the last few months, my baby son crossed an invisible line to to become a little boy. It may have been when he took to two legs and began, literally, toddling. It may have been when he began to exhibit some degree of understanding – when “Where are the fish, Boy Z?” was met with a finger pointing at the obvious fish tank (and most likely accompanied by a thought bubble reading “They’re right there you asshole. What, are you blind?”). It may have been when he started to make recognizable words that he associates with certain objects (thus far: Mama, Papa, ball, more, duck). It may have been when he started raging through the house like a tiny tornado leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

But whenever it happened, the fact is that Boy Z has most definitely become a boy. He throws, he climbs, he hits things with a cricket bat, he kicks a soccer ball around the place. He’s entirely lacking in fear, sense or a grasp of consequences and thus, at an early age, is prepared for life as a male of the species. I’ve been noticing the transition for the last few months, but yesterday it really hit home that I’ve got a male of the species, with all the masculine madness that comes along with a Y chromosome, on my hands.

We go to a music class on Boy Z and Papa Party Day and he’s not really settled in to the class. I was discussing with the teacher whether or not I wanted to sign up for another term. I’m just not sure if Boy Z is really enjoying it. The teacher’s response, in part:

We all know that he is a boy, so he’s not likely to be a sit-down-and-wait-for-the-next-thing child (as will some of the girls probably be).  As he is also a walker, he’s off to investigate everything, which is totally understandable.

In other words, it’s OK that your kid spends the whole class wandering around banging things on the door, knocking books off the table, hurling various instruments at other kids and trying to jam his fingers into the power point – he’s a boy.

After music class, we took a trip up to Cleland Wildlife Park; it’s kind of a big petting zoo in which you can feed a lot of native wildlife – kangaroos, wallabies, emus and so forth. We’ve been up once before, when Boy Z was still Baby Z, and he was kind of underwhelmed. This time, however, he was all over the place. Feeding various animals is one of his favorite activities and he was in heaven. For a while. But, as is apparently characteristic for little boys, he lost interest after a while and decided that he wanted a different kind of interaction. He picked up a big stick (ask Arizaphale about boys and sticks) and went hunting for a kangaroo with which to ‘play’. Fortunately for Boy Z, the kangaroos at Cleland apparently have enough experience with little boys to clear out when one comes toddling over with a club.

Later, Boy Z went bravely unarmed after a sitting emu. For those of you not familiar with emus, there’s a big difference between a sitting emu and a standing emu – about six feet to be exact. Boy Z got a dramatic lesson in emu anatomy as he rushed to within striking distance of the emu before the bird haughtily rose to its full height. I wish I could have seen the boy’s face before he ran, screaming, back to the protective arms of his Papa. I mean he’s a boy, but he’s still a little boy.

It is no secret that when Boy Z was born I was hoping for a girl – girls love their Dads, you know. Yes, I am exaxctly that shallow. But from the moment Boy Z first flashed his willy to the world I’ve never been disappointed. The more time I spend with my son, the happier I am that he’s a boy. There are an infinite number of experiences that I am uniquely placed to share with him. And you know what? Right now he loves his Dad as much as any girl would.

In short – boys rule, girls drool.

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The Wombats’ “A Guide To Love, Loss & Desperation” is available from The Wombats - A Guide to Love, Loss & Desperation.

 
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