A recent article from ScienceNOW stated that male babies leave traces of their DNA on their mother’s brain, and those traces can persist for decades.
As the mother of three boys, that revelation could explain a lot about why I do the things I do. But first, let me state I believe girls are as capable as boys in every regard – brains, competence, caring, logic and a thousand other characteristics.
There’s always exceptions to the perceived rule. Not all girls love pink and lace and not all boys like camo and mud. But my experience as a parent showed me that there was a difference.
Before I had children, I thought I could raise my offspring the same – no gender-biased toys for my kids, I said. When they were young, that logic worked. They loved the stereotypical girl toys as much as their stereotypical boy toys.
But after a certain age, it was clear the boys didn’t like the same things their mother liked. But there were similarities.
We understand and speak the same language – one-syllable words and short sentences do the trick with boys and me. Phrases such as “stop it” and “drop it” come out of my mouth a lot more than logical, sensitive explanations.
Whenever someone’s trying to make sure they’re being deliberate and thoughtful in their explanation, I often want to blurt out “can you just cut to the chase?” Now I know the reason – boy DNA in my brain.
My sons also used everything as a weapon. A stick wasn’t a stick – it was a machine gun. A rock was a grenade. And a tree was for climbing and a safe place to throw rocks at passersby.
The boys and I differ in that I think sticks are just sticks, but I have been tempted to throw a rock through a driver’s car window as he comes tearing down my street going 90 miles an hour.
And then there’s a tolerance for dirt. If I’d let them, my boys would go for days without bathing. They reminded me of our dog – if there was dirt or mud, they were rolling around it.
Perhaps that explains why I can go without dusting the furniture for weeks and why, when the boys came in with muddy jeans, I wasn’t at all concerned. Dirt and mud, I told myself, wash out.
My sons and I both love comic books and super heroes, but I didn’t get that love from them – they got it from me.
I’d rather spend an afternoon in the comic-book shop than I would a department store, and I was the first one in line when the first Spiderman movie came out. I shrugged it off as making my sons happy, but they knew I was the one who wanted to see that movie.
Before I pass myself off as a woman who lacks female DNA, there are things I do my sons never understood. They never quite got why I teared up at the end of the book “Laura Charlotte” by Kathryn Galbraith.
The children’s book is about a little girl and her flannel elephant. The grandmother and Laura Charlotte’s mother figure prominently in the book, and their multi-generational affection for each other makes me sob every time I read the book to my boys.
But my nieces understood how important that female connection is in a family and how much strength we girls get from each other.
My nieces also understand why I’m sniffling at the end of “Fiddler on the Roof” and why lipstick – not plastic X-men – is a required item in a purse.
Maybe having a little male DNA in my brain isn’t a bad thing. And maybe, if the universe is balanced, there’s a little female DNA in my sons’ brains, courtesy of their mom.
But, for me, I’m a blessed woman having had the privilege of parenting three boys. Now I know I’ll have a piece of them with me all my life.
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.