It is amazing to see my little boy asserting his independence. There was a lot of money on the chance that I wouldn’t let that happen. You see I am the quintessential over protective mother. Other than the fact that he had a hard start to life I am one of those people who does not believe that you have to teach your child to grow up the moment they land on the delivery bed. I am all for letting my child be a child for as long as he can be (and longer if it means I get extra time with him).
It turns out that all the over nurturing and all the over protectiveness in me cannot stop him from growing up. I see it happening and I can’t stop it.
It started when he told me that he no longer needs me to write him letters with his recess and lunch at school. I was mildly horrified but I could cope because, in truth finding a different way to say I love you to your son every single day, twice a day without actually spelling it out, is rather tricky.
Then it was the crossing of the roads. He didn’t want me to hold his hand, this has been a hard one for me to let go being the very anxious mum that I am. For a while we settled on me having my arm around him. He believed momentarily that this made him look more adult. Now I am allowed only to stand very close to him but make no actual physical contact on public roads. I am okay with this now as he is very responsible.
The freedom that he feels at being allowed to take his scooter and race down the streets is just amazing, worth letting him go just to see that huge smile take over his face. He positively beams with delight when I ask him if he wants to go to the shop for me.
The other day he told me that he is now old enough to stay in the house by himself because he can make his own toast. I’ve got to say I was a little bit taken aback that he considered my main input into being in the house with him was that I had the ability to make toast. Nevertheless I did leave him to walk around the block with the dog, and no bread was harmed (or even touched). He was so inflated with pride that he had grown about 3 cm by the time I got back 2 and a half minutes later.
But on Saturday all this growing up stuff stepped up a notch. And it went horribly wrong.
Little Pencil and I were strolling through the shops looking for some jeans. I bumped into a friend and started to chat and about 2 minutes later Little Pencil appeared at my side with the widest smile and an imploring face. He was bursting with news and was ridiculously happy. I followed him to find the source of this happiness and there in front of my eyes were the skinniest pair of jeans you have ever seen. I checked that we were still in the boy’s section. We were I checked that they were not shrunken pants. They weren’t. I checked to see that Little Pencil was being serious. He was.
He told me that these are the jeans he wants.
He tried them on.
Now, as a little background let me tell you that Little Pencil weighs 19 kilograms. He is the thinnest person I have ever met. He wears size three undies, his waist is that small. But he is perfectly magnificent and looks particularly good in a pair of jeans that give the illusion of him having a bum and legs rather than twigs.
Skinny jeans are baggy on him, but they do not disguise the shape of his body. He looks like a stick with a head. A very happy, gorgeous smiling head.
He fell in love with the jeans, thought he looked “too cool for school”. I paid for them and he came home and posed the entire afternoon.
I cannot believe that my child is growing up, becoming such an independent and confident child, but mostly I cannot believe that he has such terrible fashion sense.