Dear God, I get the point

Ever since I was little I have been good with kids and spent a lot of time babysitting. Most of my younger cousins didn't come along until I was six and for many years I was the designated baby wrangler in the family. Then in eight grade I graduated to watching children that weren't related to me and kept on doing that as a source of income all the way through college and a little bit afterward.

Along the way there were some really great kids, and also some real tyrants of both genders. But I developed a soft spot for boys. Have you ever spent a lot of time around little boys? They are so stinkin' sweet. Girls are cute and all with their frilly bows and twirly dresses, but they start to exert their sassy independence as soon as they can talk. Boys, while rambunctious, can steal your heart in five seconds flat.

Also, girls kind of terrify me. Not little girls. They are fun when they're little, but then they turn twelve and all hell breaks lose.

My own mother will tell you that I was relatively easy as a teen. I've wracked my brain to figure out what my parents did to make me that way so that in the event I have a girl someday I can repeat the process. I asked my mom recently and she said that I just came out that way.

Crap. What if I have a girl and she doesn't come out that way? What if she is a holy hellian? Not to mention that adolescence is hell on girls. I have yet to meet a grown woman who says she would relive her teen years. Men? I've met several.

So for many years now I've always said that when I have children, I want boys. I mean, I'll take what I can get, but if God wants to give me a choice, I choose boys.

And then we got a roommate. A single man who has never been married.

It was good for a while. Everyone was super conscious of the other people living here. The apartment was tidy. I did all my regular cleaning, but I didn't feel any extra strain. Then he had been here a while and he and Andy started to get a little more comfortable. Things started to slip. And then one morning I woke up and it appeared I was living in the middle of a bachelor pad.

I reached the limit this weekend when we had another male under our roof. Andy was in a bike race with a friend who lives out of town and he came to stay with us.

After we got home from the race and he left I looked around my home and said, "I changed my mind. I want girls."

Y'all...

The dishes.

The inexplicable piles of dirt. Everywhere.

The wet towel hung on my grandmothers bed every morning. (I asked him to stop and he did. Thankfully)

The random personal items on my table, counter, sofa, LAUNDRY PILE.

The unidentifiable "man dust" all over my lovely, leather sofa. What the heck is it?

And the shoes! Oh my God the shoes! Work boots, sneakers, flip flops. They're everywhere.

Add to that two MALE! bunnies and you have a very desperate housekeeper. (And if you think the bunnies being male doesn't make a difference then you come clean up after them for a week and then we'll talk.)

Now, don't get me wrong. I could have it much worse. I've been living with Andy for almost four years now, so I'm used to all of his stuff lying around. And as far as the roommate is concerned? He tries. He really does. But there are just some things, I've come to learn, that men can't help. It's part of the Y chromosome.

For instance, the toilet seat. He always leaves it up. I know he isn't doing it as a personal slight against me and I haven't fallen in yet, but when it happens and I get toilet water on my bottom, watch out...

I said something to Andy about it. I told him you could tell roommate had never been married because he always leaves up the toilet seat. Then Andy confessed to me that he doesn't leave the toilet seat up because he never actually raises the toilet seat so he won't forget to put it down and I won't bitch at him about it. And if he sprinkles when he tinkles he's always neat and wipes the seat.

And I don't know if that revelation should make me look a little harder at how much I nag him because he actually does that to avoid a fight, but all I can really think about is how grateful I am that he even thought that far ahead. AND he wipes the freakin' seat! Add that to the "list of reasons why I love my husband."

So I've come to the conclusion that God or the universe is trying to teach me a lesson about my disdain for girls and show me that there are merits to having children of each gender. Because while little boys are sweet they grow up and become men and do gross man things. (They also emit an unpleasant odor. I have some special candles and cleaning products for when we get our guest room back.)

I've learned my lesson, and when the time comes for Andy and I to have children I'll be pleased with whatever we get.

I'll be happy to have a boy and I'll do my best to raise him not to be dirty and messy, all the while knowing I'm losing the battle. And on his wedding day I'll look my daughter-in-law in the eye and say, "I'm sorry. I did my best."

A daughter will also be welcome and I'll do what I can to keep her in frilly bows and twirly dresses until she's thirty and when she hits her teens I'll suffer right along with her. And on her wedding day I'll look her in the eye and say, "Don't blame his mother."