Sigh… This is it my friends. I am going go bang my head against the wall over there until I can’t think anymore. Since this might be the last time I have a coherent thought, I decided to blog about it so you can understand.
I have a 9 year old BOY. This child, has obviously decided that his childhood is over and would like to begin the transition into manhood.
Nine years ago, I had toxemia. My son was born at 31 ½ weeks. He was 3 pounds 3 ounces. I sat next to his NICU crib for 6 weeks, hours upon hours, talking to him, singing to him, praying for him. I knew he was going to be special. A precious gift for me and the world. My heart ached with motherly love. I would’ve done ANYTHING to guarantee his life, his wellbeing. All these years of looking under the bed for monsters; all these years of cleaning up puke and bloody knees (yes, he is closer to Sunshine, until something is wrong), all these years of going broke buying clothes that only fit for two weeks… and how does he repay me? BY BEING A BOY.
Skywalker has now decided that he does not need to use his brain anymore. Ask him to put on his shoes, and be prepared to play twenty questions: What shoes? Do these match? Do you know where they are? Do you want me to put on socks? Should I change my pants also?... At first, I thought it was his way of dealing with Sunshine’s absence, but I just found out (bless my husband for keeping this from me) that this has been going on for at least a month. I am amazed that I hadn’t heard of it before.