Back when my kids were nearly perfect, I was this thing called a “Mommy Blogger”. Perhaps you’ve heard of those?
When I was this “Mommy Blogger”, there wasn’t even a negative connotation connected to it. It was the cool thing to be.
Then, my nearly perfect kids became teenagers. Sigh. And blogging became somewhat difficult because these teenagers would snoop around on my blog and find out that I was writing about them. Seriously, what did they think I was doing anyways? I was a “Mommy Blogger” after all.
So, after much bitching and moaning from them, I was forced to solemnly swear that I would never again utter a peep about them here. I was forbidden from being a Mommy Blogger and just became a Mommy with a Blog.
It wasn’t enough for them that I stop writing about their business, they forced me to stop writing about um…other stuff. Like, I dunno, sex with the Mister person. Because, apparently they were still keeping tabs on my blog. Talk about Big Brother watching. Big Teenagers are FAR, FAR worse.
So, I stopped writing about relationship stuff. Sex included. Well, the hubby didn’t want me writing about it anymore either. And I have to respect these peoples wishes. Gosh darn it.
Then, I stopped writing about my youngest kid because, well…I just did. I have no reason except for the fact that his conversations weren’t as cute as they used to be. He started talking about bodily functions and video games like MineCraft and stopped talking about Max and Ruby and his theory on why he thinks people become dragonflies when they die.
Eventually, I was left with absolutely nothing to write about in the Mommy Blogger world and I just didn’t want to write crap for the sake of writing on my blog. OK, I still write crap, but whatever.
But then, this 9 year old emerged. I mean, not literally because yikes, that would hurt. Figuratively. Although, he is literally 9 but…oh whatever…you know what I mean.
If you’ve never had a 9 year old before…OMG…are you in for a treat. And not a sweet one either.
This adorable baby of mine became, almost overnight, moody, tantrumy and sullen. Of course he has his adorable moments too. Don’t they all? But, I was suddenly reminded of a stage that I hadn’t been in for a long time, the big kids had long passed the late elementary school years of tumultuous temper. Very much like giving birth, you forget the bad parts and only remember the good parts. Which I’m still trying to recall.
OK. I’m kidding. I remember many good parts from this age through, oh…16 or so. Yes, there are a few.
The other night, in the midst of a tantum (9 year old, not mine), I had the shocking realization that even my baby is growing up. And there is nothing I can do to stop it. No matter how many more years I fall asleep next to him. No matter how many more years I check to make sure he brushed his teeth or wiped his butt well. No matter how many times I call him my baby. He’s going to grow up and become a…TEENAGER.
I look at my older kids and it’s shocking to me. But for some reason, it was more expected. I knew they’d get big and eventually leave me.
I just figured that this one would stay small and sweet forever.
I just assumed he’d never get overly moody or become a big, giant jerk (at times).
He’s the baby, after all.
I can tell hormones are starting to swing a little now. He’s concerned a little more with his appearance. He fights with me about what I lay out for him to wear. He doesn’t want to shower anymore…typical boy. He is worried what other people think about him. He doesn’t care what I think, he figures I’m just his mom so what do I really know.
He told me that he’s not a baby anymore.
I just didn’t believe him.
But now, I guess I have no choice because whether or not I choose to believe it, he’s NOT a baby anymore.
And I think I need my blog again to get me through this part. This age.
Because holy hell, from here on out, it’s going to be a rocky ride.