It's true. Yesterday, this Dapper Dan could not break the yolk on his egg with his toast. I had to do it for him. Meanwhile, Tziporah had decided to have a bath with her stuffed animal. She went in and filled up the tub with the proper temperature of water, got undressed and got in. She's three! She washed her hair, washed her stuffed animal's hair, got out, got a towel, all while Ptolemy had managed to successfully eat his egg with very little assistance. But then couldn't get his pajama shirt off over his head, and I rushed in to help, while Tziporah was in Araceli's room doing her makeup.
This makes me wonder why I treat my sons so differently than my daughters. I'm much harder on my daughters. If one of them couldn't get her shirt off, I'd scoff. With Ptolemy, it was, "Oh honey, here, let me make it all better." The other night when I dropped Freestone off at ballroom, I could tell he was not feeling well. I told my friend who picks him up after that she could give him the choice of coming home after ballroom, instead of being dropped off at ballet. When I got home later, he had skipped ballet and was already asleep, burning up with fever. So I made the right call; he was sick. But if it had been Araceli, my reaction would have been, "Here, take two of these, drink some water and buck up. You're not missing class just because of a tiny fever."
I don't have any point to make, and I have NO idea why I have this double standard. A mom's affection for her sons is real, I guess. I want to nurture them. The girls, on the other hand, as much as I love and adore them, I identify them more as a part of me on some level, so I feel like I can push them the way I would push myself. I don't feel like they need nurturing as much as the boys? I don't know.
All I know is Ptolemy is so freakin' cute, I can hardly stand it! If he needs me to put his arm in his sleeve until he's 25, I'll probably do it. Oh boy.
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