Bronson the Boy

During my undergraduate work, I went through many child psychology and human development courses. Both included sections on gender theories, explaining differing toy preferences, types of play, language, etc., based on genetic attributes, socialization, or a mixture of the two.

I have to admit, I was unsure of which theories were true until I had a child of my own.

Now I know: It's genetic.

Bronson's first word after 'mama' and 'dada' was 'ball', followed closely by 'doggy'.

Instead of stuffed animals, he cuddles toy cars to sleep.

And just today he replaced the cars with a full-size football.

His grip only just loosened enough for it to roll out of his sleepy arms.

Anything and everything is thrown, as hard as physically possible (despite it often being something he's not supposed to throw, as in the cell phone or remote). He likes playing with animals, but not in a soft, delicate way - rather, a running, wrestling, jumping method. He will sit for hours (ok - exaggeration here) figuring out things, like building with legos or putting together a puzzle, but has absolutely no patience with me when I try to brush his hair and teeth.

I know, how can I say that all this was genetic, when it could easily have been unconsious socialization from my McDreamy and myself. But, you see, if anything, I try to socialize him against this genetic dispostion - being softer with the neighbor's dog, more cuddly with his stuffed animals, and more discriminatory with the items he chooses to make his next throwing-victim. However, it seems that, despite my best efforts, at the end of the day, he curls up with his football.

He's most definitely a boy. My boy.