I’ve been pretty much banned from writing about the teenager people in my family. I won’t mention names, they know who they are. I’ve also been pretty much banned from writing about the husband person in my family. Again, no names, the guilty party has to live with his guilt.
I do have one victim left in this house. He’s 10. He knows I blog, he knows what a blog is, but he doesn’t know REALLY what I write about. In fact, he’s quite oblivious. In a cute way, of course.
I started this blog back when my youngest was around 3. Well, not THIS blog…but blogging. I started this one about a year into the blogging thing after shutting down my old one for reasons I won’t mention. But…if you’ve been following me for all these years, you know what those reasons are.
So today, instead of a rant, which is typically what my blog has been…when I post. Which isn’t often enough. I will share a little story about my baby.
My 10 year old son. Don’t tell him, okay?
The other night, he noticed this little ‘thing’ on his cheek. It was red and puffy and he couldn’t stop playing with it. Which, of course, made it redder and puffier.
It was a…gasp…ZIT.
He had never had one before. Because duh, he’s a baby, right? Well yeah…he’s my baby, despite his protests to the title. He claims he’s not a baby so therefore, he’s not MY baby.
He’ll always be my baby.
Anyway…back to the zit.
When he finally figured out what it really was, he freaked. Like…FREAKED. As in…
“If this isn’t gone in the morning, I am NOT going to school.”
“I can’t go to school with a zit, the other kids will make fun of me.”
“How am I going to be able to go to school with this giant thing on my cheek?”
All of the above, said in a panicky whine.
People…yes, it’s a zit. But omg…tiny. Like, tiny.
But, to him, it was a mountain that erupted right on his little chubby smile line. (He’s still got those baby cheeks that I squish)
So, I did what any rational thinking parent would do…
I put Zit cream on it. The kind that promises overnight success.
It was still there yesterday morning. Still tiny. Maybe not as red and puffy…a little flatter. But…still there.
He stared at himself in the mirror, for like…forever. Complaining that everyone was going to notice and that they would tease him about it.
I tried to make him understand that this was potentially the first in a long line of zits and that he wouldn’t be the only one who would experience this little issue.
He was unfazed because, well, he’s 10. And his zit is the only problem on the face of the earth and he is the only one dealing with such a problem.
Somehow, I was able to convince him that he couldn’t miss school based on the fact that there was this tiny little thing on his face that MOST LIKELY no one else would notice unless he pointed it out.
I emphasized the fact that…he shouldn’t point it out.
I don’t know how his day went, I am not allowed to go to school with him. Not that I really want to but yeah…kind of. Just to see what goes on.
I went about my day.
He went about his.
Finally, it was time to pick him up.
He bounced his way to the car, where I was sitting waiting.
Side note: I love the fact that he is still at the age where, when he sees me, his entire face lights up. My momma’s boy. Unlike my teens who are embarrassed to be seen with me. Which, I have no clue why, I’m fairly attractive and cool. Eh…what do those teens know, anyway? I mean, they won’t even let me write about them here anymore. Did I already mention that?
Digression, my bad.
My smiley little baby boy climbs into the car…after rolling around in snow hills and getting all sopping wet, including his stinky shoes. By the way, what is it about boys and smelly shoes. We buy this kid new gym shoes constantly because, despite wearing socks, those shoes STINK.
Did I digress again? Ooops, sorry.
Ok, so he climbed into the car.
Smiling at me.
I already said that.
I asked him about his day.
It was fine, he said. Okay. Typical.
I asked him about his zit.
No one noticed, he said. He didn’t point it out to anyone, he said…just like I had told him.
Good boy. He still listens to his Mommy, sometimes.
It was all good.
He figured it would be gone by the next morning.
I didn’t think it would be.
It’s tinier, of course. It looks like a flat, red dot on his smile line now.
But if he didn’t have a freak out again that resembled the one the morning before…omg.
So, don’t touch it, I said. Don’t mention it, I suggested. Leave it alone, it’ll go away, I soothed.
Then, I told him about the zits I used to get that were REAL zits, not this little tiny pimple thing that he had.
I’d get one big, giant one, once a month. The kind where you REALLY wanted to stay home from HIGH SCHOOL because inevitably, someone would point the thing out and make fun of you.
Those are the zits you have to be embarrassed about, I mentioned.
He looked panic-stricken.
Then he asked me if he was going to get those kinds of zits with a wild look in his eyes.
I mentioned that, because he was a boy, he might not. Because mine came with PMS.
Relief washed over him. The mad dog look left his eyes.
I knew I would be able to shove him out of the car at school.
And he said…Mom, it must suck being a girl then. Periods AND pimples…yuck. AND…you have to push babies out your vagina. Well, he didn’t call it a vagina, actually. He called it a ‘baby cannon’. And if I find out who taught him that, I’m going to have a few not nice words to say.
So, what’s my point to all this?
About my 10 year old baby and his zit.
I’m sitting here, looking at a picture of me holding him on the day of his Bris. He was 8 days old with a head of reddish-blonde hair, a smushed nose and red, splotchy skin. And he was one of the three most beautiful babies I had ever seen.
I realize I don’t have a baby anymore.
I have a youngest child, who will always be one of my three natural born babies. And I’ll always think of him as my baby. He’s my youngest, it’s impossible for me to think any other way.
He has a zit now.
And smelly feet.
Not the good kind of smelly, either. I refuse to kiss those feet anymore.
I am baby-less now.
He’s growing up.
Just like the obnoxious teenagers did.
And there is not a damn thing I can do about it.
That zit, the one that mortified him…
It’s actually stabbing me in the heart.
Not because he’s embarrassed of it…of course, I’m trying to make him feel better about that.
He’s a TWEEN.
With more pimples and grodier smelling feet.
And I won’t have babies anymore.
I’m so mad at that zit, right now.
Because it is a painful truth staring at me from the soft chubby curves of his cheeks.
They all grow up.