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Becoming Obsolete

My son is 12-years old. A turning point in the life of a boy. And the life of his mom. He has peach fuzz and is now a good 3 to 4 inches taller than I am. Where did the time go? I remember when he was 7 months old. That smooth baby face, rosy cheeks, fine, blonde hair. It was so easy for him and for us. Just give him loads of attention, play with him, let him bang away on the piano or some blocks, and he was happy. Well, to a point.

My son was never really happy until he could walk. Sure, as long as you were engaging him, he was cool. But, he wanted to MOVE! When he was cranky, we’d try the swing, the jumpy seat, the shaker chair. All perfectly good options when my daughter was his age. But not for this kid! My daughter was perfectly content as soon as she could sit up. I could pile books in front of her and she would just sit there and paw through them. My son? HA! I couldn’t bring him anywhere that would require him to sit still. My daughter was very cautious when she started to explore walking. She was a little reluctant to give up the assistance from the coffee table. When she walked, she walked. The boy, on the other hand, was perfectly content with falling on his face in order to get that walking thing going. That kid has so many scars on his face; he could never be a model for Gillette. Their sales would plummet.

They say boys love their mommies. Well, I guess that’s true. As long as you are nursing them. Nowadays, I’m the object of rolling eyes. Nothing I say makes any sense. I am a ride to lacrosse practice and a source of funds for a trip to the movies. Dad is the god right now. I swear, they conspire against me! What is this “Instagram” stuff? And why can he have an account on there when we wouldn’t let my daughter have a Facebook account until that legal age of 13? I am receiving no support on this. Hmmm…. Good thing I’m the one at home and was wise enough to insist that the computer be in a room where I can look over his shoulder anytime. And he thinks he’s getting a smartphone someday. HA! Just another reason I am on his hate list.

I could see it coming. I guess the turning point was the day when I brought my sweet, toe-headed boy to a week long theatre camp at a theatre I actually worked at where he knew just about everyone. This camp was definitely going to be tons of fun with me just upstairs and lots of fun kids his age. Apparently, he had different thoughts. While in line at check-in, he looked up at me with those sweet blue eyes and just said “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” He was 5-years old. The honeymoon was over. My husband tells me not to forget that whenever the pro ballplayers get their mugs on TV after scoring the winning touchdown, they say “hi” to Mom, not to Dad. I guess that’s what I have to look forward to now. So, the journey continues.



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