Staring back at a photo I took of me and my oldest at a restaurant over the weekend, I noticed something off. At 10 years old, his head is almost as big as mine. And I have a big head.
Thank the stars in the sky I’m a tall lady, because if he were already as tall as me, I just might lose it- because I’m already teetering at the edge with this kid. I know it’s the stereotypical “mom” thing to say- but he is growing way too fast, and I’m gonna need him to stop.
It’s a train that’s been out of control for a very long time. The big head realization may just be the caboose. And it’s on fucking fire.
Like any mom, having your first baby hit the double-digits is a big slap in the face. “HOW AM I OLD ENOUGH FOR THIS?” First they’re ten, and then they’re in high school, and then they’re driving, and then they’re moving out to go to college and from there it’s a landslide to marriage and babies, and before you know it, you’re chugging miralax because you’re old, and constipated, and your grandchildren think you’re full of shit. And you probably are. Because you’r ancient.
If only my kid hitting the big 1-0 was the first smack into reality that he is closer to being an adult than he is a baby, but no. It’s just one more thing in a long line of repeated bitch slaps.
The kid has already been kicking my ass when we watch Jeopardy (which he insists on watching so he can laugh hysterically as he “wrecks” the contestants). He’s been wearing deodorant for two years now because he wreaks. All the shit people warned me about when it comes to boys “eating you out of house and home” that sounded a bit laughable I already know to be true, as I watch this boy inhale his 5th snack between coming home from school and having dinner…. and when he’s done with dinner, he asks to have whatever I have on my plate, because clearly dinner is a race and he has to win.
He is acing things in 5th grade that I don’t remember ever even learning in high school, let alone elementary. I can’t help him with his math homework. DON’T EVEN ASK ME.
We SHARE CLOTHES. I steal his shirts all the time. Shit, sometimes I even say I’m buying him a shirt when really it’s just for me, but I can more easily get away with buying new clothes if I say it’s for the kids.
Most of the time, I don’t even need to Google for the answers to weird, random, off-the-wall questions because he has the answers rattling around in his enormous dome, and even when I Google anyway just to be the asshole fact checker so that I can laugh in his face about being wrong- HE’S NOT. HE’S RIGHT. HOW DOES HE DO IT?
How is this kid so smart? How is he so grown? How does he eat so much? How does he already smell so bad?
It is in these moments of fleeting childhood where I have to grasp on to the last bits that remain. He still believes in Santa (HOW? I DON’T KNOW). He still loves to cuddle, and be tickled (even though he is NOT ticklish). He still throws the occasional enormous baby temper tantrum. He’s not interested in any kind of romantical things.
But the best proof that my baby is still my innocent, derp-brained little bundle of joy came unexpectedly. Like an early Christmas gift that dropped into my lap. THE HEAVENS SMILED UPON ME THAT DAY!
Amidst a conversation about some extended family, an uncle named “Richard” was mentioned. It’s not the first time he was mentioned, but the eldest child has selective hearing like a mofo. Practicing for his married years, I’m sure–already ahead of the curve just like everything else he does.
I made a little joke about “Good ol’ Uncle Dick” (not saying this person is, in fact, a Dick- but I just love the nickname because it’s real, and because I’m immature).
He stops us mid conversation, and the following exchange occurs:
10 yo: Wait… people actually have that name?
Me: What? Dick?
10 yo: Yeah…. that. That’s a real name?
Me: Yes. It’s a nickname for Richard…
A look of bewilderment and sudden understanding washes over his face. I wasn’t ready for this, y’all. I. wasn’t. ready.
10 yo: Ohhh… so… Dick’s Sporting Goods is a real sport store?
Me: …. yes…. what did you think it was?
10 yo: A penis sports store.
A what now?
10 yo: (obviously realizing he’s made a horrible mistake) I dunno, I just thought… they had a section in the back with penis trampolines.
THE FUCK IS A PENIS TRAMPOLINE?
I don’t think we’ll EVER know what the hell was going through his mind, because he couldn’t stop laughing enough to tell me, but I do know one thing: He’s certainly no grown-up. And now, suddenly, it’s not his belief on Santa that comforts me. It’s thanks to his weird, misguided belief in penis trampolines that I don’t feel so bad.
@DianeAuten I'm so glad you're enjoying it!
I don't know what I want for dinner, but I can guarantee it's not any of the 14 things my husband will suggest.
@ThisIsAstartes Best worst little shits on the planet.
What's that smell? A lot of pants on fire. pic.twitter.com/bVK0FnJgeB
I'm officially done parenting. Here's how I did it: holdinholden.com/2018/01/im-o…
I’m Officially Finished Parenting. Here’s how I did it goo.gl/fb/TBJQPJ