Baby girls, baby boys; who knew?

I'm a girly-girl.

Oh, I can squash big hairy spiders and lug around hefty bags of mulch and change a flat tire when I need to - OK, that last one is a lie but I can at least call AAA to do it - but I like pretty and girly things best.

That's why I was thrilled that my children were girls who also liked pretty girly things. Even though people say bringing up girls is the hardest job ever, at least I could figure out what was going on my daughters' girl brains when they were younger. And now that they're both 20-something, it's fun that we all speak the same language of shoes, hair highlights and is-that-new-

mascara-really-worth-$6?

I'm also glad I had girls because really I don't understand how men think at all.

I mean, I can predict what my husband's going to say or do in any situation but I'm at a loss as to explain why. I don't understand, for instance, why his desk is a mess but he refuses to use a washcloth more than two days in a row or why he can eat a bowl full of jalapeno peppers but doesn't like hot coffee. It's a puzzle.

Even so, a year and two weeks ago when my older daughter and her husband had a baby boy - my grandson, Capt. Adorable - I was thrilled. I couldn't wait to do all the little-boy things I'd missed out on.

I had no qualms about taking on a baby boy, except for diaper-changing - and I've learned to be quick.

After all, children are children, right? How different could baby boys and baby girls be anyway? Which shows you how little I know, because ever since Capt. Adorable was born, he has emphatically and enthusiastically been a boy.

Nobody ever has mistaken him for anything else. He moves and gestures like a boy. Even his I'm-tired-of-eating-peas-and-carrots-wails sound like a boy.

Every time I'm with him and my girly maternal side comes out, it runs smack dab into his inner boy-ness.

The other day, for example, we were walking - well, I was walking and he was toddling - in our backyard. At his age, his mom and aunt loved picking dandelions and carrying them around. Smiling at that memory, I gave one to Capt. Adorable, who seemed suitably interested and clutched it in his sweet little baby hand - for a couple minutes. Then he discovered rocks. And sticks.

Bye-bye, flowers.

But at least he and his granddad have much in common. They both like cereal. They have similar hairlines. They don't like shoe shopping. And they both get grumpy when they don't get their naps.

Hmm ... maybe I know more about living with little boys than I thought.

Cathy Wood is a freelance writer living in the Shoals. For more from her, visit TimesDaily.com.