So this morning I was getting Boo ready for school.
Making his lunch, packing his bag, ironing his uniform in the dryer…
All the usual shizzle.
I was gulping down my now stone cold coffee, willing the caffeine to hit my brain RIGHT NOW cause I had a horrible night of weird arsed dreams waking me up with a ‘the FUCK?!?!’ over and over and OMG OVER AGAIN, while yelling out to Boo ‘use soap!’ and ‘don’t forget your butt!’ and generally making a hell of a racket.
As I do every morning.
I am not a morning person. I believe we established that early on.
And I don’t particularly like afternoons.
Or anything or anyone really.
I wandered into the bathroom to give Boo his 2 minute you are getting out of the goddamn shower NOW warning before fulfilling his request to go and put on a bra.
Kid is obsessed.
‘OK Boo, time to get out’
‘No.’ he replies while turning off the water ‘You got a bra on?’
‘Lemme check’ he stands on the step of the spa and moves my shirt across my shoulder to expose the strap. ‘OK, then’
Let me just add here that the kid is COMPLETELY NAKED and dripping wet and is concerned about MY undergarments.
I should totally drink more.
So I am drying him off while he sings to himself in the mirror, physically moving his limbs to dry them. I lift up one arm and then the other and stop dead in my tracks.
As in MY HEART STOPPED.
‘Um Boo, just turn sideways a bit’ he turns a little, just enough so I have the light streaming in from the window and he can still see his reflection while he sings in his beautiful little boy voice.
I lift his arm again.
And the other.
It is not dirt.
I was praying for dirt.
It. Is. Hair.
Little dark motherfucking hairs on my baby boy.
Well THAT explains a LOT. The whole super aggressive nearly got suspended from school for pushing his aide really really interested in what the girls at school are doing eating a loaf of bread in one motherfucking sitting shit I have been dealing with over the last couple of months and the teacher had put down to my parenting abilities.
And then, as I continued to dry him and listen to him singing it hit me like a freight train full of bricks being propelled by an atomic bomb full of razor blades that his voice is going to change.
And the morning shower will be in baritone instead of that beautiful child voice.
And I will like mornings even less.
If that is at all possible.