Eighteen More Years of Burps and Farts

Where the heck did that blog name come from?!

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My nine year old son.  This probably needs no further explanation, but this is my darn blog, and you are going to get one anyway, whether you like it or not. (Imagine that said in my firmest of mom voices.)

When I was expecting kid #4, I was poking around on a mom site, reading the forum discussions.  I was at the point in pregnancy when everyone was finding out the sex of their babies, and there were no less than 4.5 million posts about #TeamPink and #TeamBlue. And then I came across the post that would shape my future.

“I went to my ultrasound this morning, and it was awful.  JUST AWFUL. I have two boys already, and was PRAYING to be on #TeamPink. And then the tech put the wand on my belly for the money shot and there it was.  Another freaking boy.  I am heartbroken.  I haven’t stopped crying since. My dreams of dresses and bows are smashed.  EIGHTEEN MORE YEARS OF BURPS AND FARTS!”

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I hold some sympathy for this woman.  I get being disappointed when you don’t get what you have been hoping for. And the reality is, her entire life was shaped in that moment. I genuinely hope that 5 months later, when her beautiful baby boy was handed to her, all was well with the world.

But that quote.  THAT QUOTE.

Two days later, I was at my own ultrasound. The tech went in for the “money shot.” And my husband and I both burst out laughing, and blurted out “Eighteen more years of burps and farts!!!!”

When we gave our older kids a box filled with blue balloons to let them know a brother would be joining the family – they all shrieked “Eighteen more years of burps and farts!” while giving each other gleeful high fives.

When boy number four joined our family two years later – blue frosted cupcakes were met with joyful shouts of “Eighteen more years of burps and farts!”

So, yeah. That is where the blog title comes from. And it couldn’t be more true to my life as a mom.  With four boys, and the classiest little girl in the history of daughters (read: dripping with sarcasm), my life is a side show of bodily function.

It is messy. It is sticky, stinky, and rarely quiet. But it is pretty darn fantastic.

Oh, except for the stink part. That isn’t too fantastic. I am not kidding when I say to hold your nose if you go near the boys rooms. Feet and farts. The smells of their people.  #JoysOfBoys

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