Because he was just born, you see.
My first baby, the one who hated sleep and turned me into a zombie mom but was so sweet, he also made me fall madly in love with him.
I’m not ready for him to stop being a little boy.
Yet, he’s nine.
Nine and a half… more than a half, he’d tell you.
So, I know he’s growing up.
But, ohmyfreakinggosh, who knew nine could be so grown up?
I thought I had until 13… or at least until 11 or 12… until this attitude came out.
Where he responds to everything with sarcasm or with his version of a joke, which you can tell by the smirk on his face.
Where it’s not “Yes, ma’am” or “No, sir” to me and his daddy. It’s “But, whyyyyyyy?”
He thinks he’s smarter than we are and that he knows best.
And oh, he is a smart kid.
And he does have a lot of common sense.
I can trust him.
He’s been my rule follower, the one that teachers tell me they wish they had a class full of.
But the attitude lately.
I knew it was coming, even from a “good kid,” it comes with the teenage years, but I’m not ready for it yet.
We talk about it, and when he realizes that he’s being rude or sarcastic or disrespectful, he’s rather mortified, like he didn’t realize that he’s pushing the limits of his parents’ patience.
In those moments, he reverts back to a little boy who just wants to sit on his mama’s lap, even if he is almost as tall as me. He goes back to playing with his younger brothers, goes back to his LEGO projects, back to little boy sweetness and silliness.
But it doesn’t last long.
He teeters back toward being a tween.
And I’m so not ready.
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