My son, Little Man, is 11. He is a truly awesome kid. You can spare me the crap about parents not having a favorite child. The status of who is favorite may be on a sliding scale that changes several times a day, but it’s there in the back of all parents minds. I’ll admit that about 20 times out of 10, he’s my favorite. He’s pretty self-sufficient now and he gets on my nerves a lot less than Mini-Me does.
Yes, he and I have our problems. He likes to think that I am not the boss of him and likes to slam doors when I throw my authority around and say things like, “Because I said so” or “Because you live in MY house and I make the rules”. Ugh. I can’t believe I say those things. He’s growing up super fast and I cherish the sweet moments when he tells me he loves me from across the room or hugs me out of nowhere. He’s my sweet little boy that once was a huge chunk of baby fat sitting in a laundry basket full of toys.
There have been signs since this school year has started that something big and dangerous is afoot. It starts with the mood swings and slamming of doors….and leads to armpit hair, deeper voices, and…“alone time” in his bedroom. His mood has been in an upswing this week and he has been the most loving thing ever created. Then, last night before I went to bed, I saw that the light and TV was still on his bedroom. I peeked my head in the door. My sweet little baby was sleeping all cute like. I walked through the disgusting boy mess that has become his room, turned off the TV, bent down to tuck him in….and that’s when I saw them out of the corner of my eye.
Two pictures of half-naked women, evidently cut out of a magazine or something, pinned to his wall across from his bed. Within eye view. When he’s laying in his bed. I shrieked a little, then hurried out of the room. I have to give him credit, though…they were pretty hot. And just like most heterosexual boys, he loves big titties and a little girl on girl hugging action.
Oh, sweet beer-drinking Jesus…
PUBERTY IS UPON US.