Yes, I am at it again. Blogging furiously in the trenches of my internet prison….(just kidding, you can’t even imagine the horror of it, if my computer were to be taken away from me for more than a couple of days…I may hyperventilate to death…or morph into Mrs. Grouchy McBitcherson)
SO ANYWAYS….
I know this topic is getting old, but for me, it’s only getting to be a more serious issue that MUST be addressed.
When my precious baby son Oscar was born, it never occurred to me that he would eventually grow up into a proper little man with his very own tastes and opinions.
Last night, we went out for supper, and he ordered snow crab legs. He’s 6, people. How many 6 year olds do YOU know that stray away from the norm of chicken nuggets or pizza? And you know what? He loved them and ate every last one.
I watched the handsome little mo-hawked superhero with laser beam eyes and steel fists, as he dipped each bite in the melted butter and felt a little lump start to build in my throat.
When did the chubby little chewable cheeks start thinning out and developing actual jaws?? When did the squishy rolls of baby fat around his wrists and ankles turn into slender muscle?
When did he learn the kindness and respect to allow all the butterflies and ladybugs he caught for his new fully loaded insect habitat, to go free?? He won’t keep them in there for more than an hour for fear they may be missing their families or not have enough air!!
And who authorized the wardrobe change into pirate skulls and army gear from teddy bears and Bob the Builder????
My little boyo is an expert on every Spider-man villain and has taught himself some superb KAH-RAH-TAY. He has graduated into an Oral B stages 3 toothbrush and only has 5 days left of Kindergarten. He makes up his own insults (albeit they are lame; I am NOT a stinky bumface with garbage on my head!) He creates beautiful art of zombies, monsters and army vs. transformer battles every day for our refrigerator.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t fit so nicely into my cradling arms in a rocking chair anymore, and HE is the one who carries the big milk jugs in from the car because “Mommy, I’m your STRONG helper!”
Each barren and desolate day that my baby slips away from babydom forms another new wrinkle, another gray hair (yes, that is why I dye it religiously), and puts me one step closer to needing some kind of pain-numbing nerve pills.
WHY THE HELL DON’T THEY MAKE CUDDLY SLEEPERS WITH FEET IN THEM FOR 6 YEAR OLDS?????!!!!
