A dozen or so years ago when my husband and I made the decision to become parents together, we embarked on a long and winding road, a trail of tears and triumph (mixed-metaphorically speaking). We sought the road to parenthood and did not concern ourselves or consider the differences between raising sons and raising daughters.

Though I could write volumes about adoption in the United States, memories of those trying years have grown less prominent as the business of raising two young boys now dominates daily life.

I am delighted to be a boy mom.

Before having children I remember visiting a playground with friends and their children. A mom I had never before met began to chat. When conversation turned to our adoption journey, she told me she hoped we adopted girls because I did not seem like a boy mom. I was offended. She had known me all of fifteen minutes. Why wouldn't I be a good mother to boys? Too girly? Not gritty enough? What possible differences could there be between raising boys and raising girls that could make a parent's personality better suited for one or the other?

Raising boys doesn't appear to be like raising girls.

Though I never had the pleasure of raising daughters, I did have the pleasure of being stepmother to two during their growing up years. Oh, the bad opera, especially during adolescence. Girl children seemed to squeal and fuss about themselves. Girl children seemed to bicker and stay mad longer. Girl children seemed to create more drama. In fact, emotional drama might be an innate girl art form. I think girl children might be more at risk for developing passive-aggressive coping mechanisms than boys. I speak not just as a stepmother to two now adult stepdaughters, but as a former girl child, too.

At the risk of attributing too much to gender differences, I'd describe my preadolescent sons thus far as wonderfully boyish. They are fun, spontaneous, and low maintenance. Each appears to have healthy, uncomplicated connections with peers. They don't seem to fret or over-analyze (as Mom does). They are kind and well rounded. They appreciate the beautiful as well as the disgusting. I see their fascination for many things including music, sports and bodily functions.

More than a decade into this gig, I am pleased with the young men my sons have thus far become. I look toward to their adolescent years with a measure of hopeful confidence.

And, I have turned out to be a pretty darn good boy mom, thank you very much. No one could accuse me of lacking grit.

While eavesdropping on my sons (a parental right and responsibility) one night this week I heard the more beastly of the two belch loudly, then exclaim to his brother, "Hey! That tasted like corn dog with just a tiny bit of throw up in it." Pause. Then he added, "It was good!"

I didn't even flinch. I wish the woman at the playground could see me now.