I am the mother of a little boy.

This is how I know:

1. I’m constantly unearthing rocks, twigs, bark and occasionally a stray dead bug from the pockets of pants and jackets.
2. ANYTHING can be turned into a weapon. A stick, a pretzel, a toothbrush…etc.
3. We have started occassionally having that boy smell in C’s bedroom. You know, “that” smell. Ewww. Somehow, they all seem to have it until they get married and then it miraculously and mysteriously disappears. Hmmm.
4. I have to wipe down my bathrooms. Every. Single. Day. Enough said.
5. And this is the newest thing. The thing I don’t like and have no idea how to stop. The sudden obsession with potty and bodily functions talk. I have no idea where he learned it since it certainly didn’t come from home. I suspect one of his little friends at preschool learned it from an older sibling and has taught Carter all about it. Corrupting my innocent boy. Anyway, I try really hard not to overreact since I think he does it to see my reaction. But um, it’s gross.

But yeah, he’s ALL boy all the time. And I wouldn't change a thing. (Except the potty talk, of course).