by Mona Yasir

Created on: January 14, 2009   Last Updated: January 15, 2009

According to the nursery rhyme, little boys are made from 'Frogs and snails and puppy dog tails'. Well, what an apt description for their adorable, devious and ill-tempered male disposition, which only a mother could love. And I'm telling you now, ladies, it is our sacred duty, much to the dismay of many a young first-time Mom, to love and nurture these nasty little scoundrels and turn them into God-fearing, decent and honorable human beings. Not all of us may succeed, but the fruits of our labor will one day transform into grandchildren and it will all have been worth it. Because then, if all goes well, we will have our revenge!

But seriously, being a Mom of two gorgeous little boys, who are the absolute centre of my universe, I know that I couldn't live a day without them. Despite the fact that I can no longer leave my make-up out on the dressing table, nor is there a wall in the house that doesn't bear the mark of my Picassos. There isn't a kitchen cabinet high enough to stow anything away, or any lock strong enough to hold anything in, and recently, the electric drill had to be given away after the older one tried to pierce the younger one's ear with it. The little darlings! This was exactly one year after my eldest had to have a piece of plastic train track surgically removed from his nose. They know me by name down at the Accident and Emergency Centre.

I think I really could write a whole book about the turmoils and near-death experiences in our household, and believe me when I say that not one of those incidents occurred through any lack of vigilance on my part. But they're just too smart and demonically devious for the likes of us. God must have added a special sneaky gene to the boy chromosome, and sent them here to torment us. And some of them don't outgrow it, do they? Has anyone noticed that they even kick you harder in the womb than their fragile little female counterparts? I know!

But just look at them, fast asleep in their cute little Bart Simpson pyjamas, with their untamed hair and their marshmallow cheeks, nothing could be more angelic. Until the next day, and your police job begins all over again. When will you no longer have to scoop poop from behind the sofa or wash macaroni and cheese out of your own hair? When will a birthday gift of paints and crayons not send you spiraling into a panic attack? When, oh when, will they both leave for college?

You find yourself reminiscing about your days in school, when boys were the only thing on your mind. How come they're so intriguing at that age? Still mostly disgusting, but intriguing. You wonder which poor unsuspecting lassies will fall prey to the undeniable charms of your two angels. But for now, you have to pull one of them out of the washing machine and trace the pee puddles on the kitchen floor back to their origin. Ah, what bliss to be the mother of boys.

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