Boy Moms Be Like: Chaos, Ketchup, and Question Marathons

 You ever see a little boy first thing in the morning? Eyes barely open, hair pointing in twelve directions, and somehow already mid-sentence about Batman or ninjas or why chicken nuggets are the best food? Yeah, welcome to the boy mom life. From the moment my son’s eyes crack open, it’s go-time. He’s ready to run, talk, bounce, ask, and repeat—all before I’ve even ate breakfast.

 Being a boy mom comes with a signature scent: a mysterious blend of candy, faint sour notes, outdoor sweat, and something you can’t quite name but somehow recognize across the room . We don’t question it. We just call it “son.”

Don't get me started on mealtime! It better be exactly what he likes—or it’s war. He’s a picky eater with very strong opinions, especially about ketchup (which apparently goes on everything) and cheese pizza (a staple for all growing boys). But if he’s into it? That plate will be spotless in under three minutes. Blink and it’s gone.

Clean Plate = Full Tummy!
Even if it was just chicken nuggets & fries.

Now let me brag for a second: my boy is a hand-washing champion. This kid won’t leave a bathroom without scrubbing like he’s prepping for surgery. And honestly? That’s the dream. So many grown men still think “wash your hands” is a suggestion, not a rule. Proud mom moment right there.

When it comes to fashion? He dresses himself and somehow nails it. Most days. He’s got his style—outfits paired with Heelys. You know, the shoes with the wheels in them? They sound like a shopping cart rolling down a cobblestone street, but he wears them like they’re Air Jordans. He’s not sneaking up on anything—including my last nerve.

Our conversations? Let me tell you, boy moms don’t get normal talk. They’re not for the faint of brain cells. He asks questions at the speed of sound and teaches me more superhero origin stories than I ever wanted to know. Don’t answer wrong unless you want to be publicly shamed by an 8-year-old. I live in fear of getting Ralph, Mikey, Donnie, & Leo mixed up.

But in between the sensory overload, the chaos, and the crumbs—he’ll randomly stroll by, throw out a “Love you, Mama,” and keep walking like he didn’t just emotionally level me. That’s the moment. That’s the boy mom core memory. Melt your heart, then five seconds later back to bouncing on the furniture again like your blood pressure isn’t already high. 

Boy moms & dads everywhere will agree—raising boys is like lighting a bottle rocket. Unpredictable, explosive, and likely to launch into orbit for no clear reason. All we can do is stand by with a first aid kit, a broom, and, a snack. We just cross our fingers  for a soft landing.

Hang in there, boy moms—none of us know what we’re doing, but at least we can smell the chaos coming!

If I made you laugh, cringe, or question your entire existence—consider tossing a tip my way.