My life was invaded by boys.
Their testosterone, dirty socks, and toys with wheels permeated even the most private, girly recesses of my home. I used to wake up in the morning, shower, shave my legs, choose the perfect outfit from among my organized but crowded closet, fixed my hair, put on makeup, and left the house on time…wearing heels. I was the real, fluffy, frilly, deal: a woman.
Then my boys arrived, and with them came cars, trucks, trains, bugs, lizards, four-day-old socks, dirty underwear, fart jokes and belching contests. Suddenly, they outnumbered me. Even the dogs were boys. I was outmanned in every sense of the word. My dreams of ponies, tea parties, and dresses were put on hold…for a while anyway.
My name is Mary Widdicks, and I am a 33-year-old mom to two boys and a baby girl. Once a cognitive psychologist in the field of memory, I now spend the majority of my time trying to remember if I fed all the children each morning. The irony is not lost on me. I started writing about my life as the only girl in a house full of boys in January 2014 and have since been featured on sites such as The Washington Post, Brain, Child Magazine, Scary Mommy, Popsugar, Hot Moms Club, and several parenting anthologies. In February of 2015 I gave birth to my first daughter and am now happily drowning in a sea of pink.
I am currently working on my first novel, which will either kill me in the process or come out some time next year.