Over the last few weeks we have had huge gains in maturity with Boo.
Glimpses of a 9 year old boy, rather than the oversized toddler we are used to.
Obsessed with Grease Lightning. They are singing a censored version for the school musical.
He is wandering around the house singing ‘You know that ain’t no shit, we are getting lots of tit’
‘Stop Boo, you know you are not allowed to say those words’
‘Well can I say pussy then?’ ‘What’s creaming Mum?’
And I fall over.
‘What will the chicks do Mum? I think they will cream’
Concussion from all the falling over in dead faints.
Writing ‘shit’ on his school work when he gets it wrong.
Drawing pictures of his swimming teacher trying to kiss him (she hasn’t, looooong story) and then DENYING that he drew it.
Theory of mind people. He haz it.
Arguing. Rolling of eyes. Sniggering at the scantily dressed beach volley ball chicks.
Dude is becoming a dude. Real quick like. In a couple of weeks, instead of the years you lot get. He went from loving toddler to obnoxious boy in a matter of days.
Doing my fucking head in.
We still have the moments. But nearly every single day a new gain. A new development. A ‘nine year old boy’ moment. ‘Mummy’ is replaced with ‘Mum’. Kisses are ‘eww’. No more laying in bed cuddling, now a note on his door telling us to piss off.
Don’t open the door when I am alone in the rooms.
It is like I have lost the boy I know. All of a sudden a kid, an obnoxious, typical, sniggering-at-the-dirty boy has entered my life.
But today I was brought back to earth.
Got to school. Walked into the classroom. Boo and his aide covered in blood.
He pulled out another tooth.
A not-ready-to-be-liberated-from-his-body, tooth.
And that fucker bled like a… well a fucking lot. Boo oblivious. His aide and teacher dry retching. Cause they haven’t dealt with this before.
Me, on the other hand, oh yes. Lots of times.
The call to come and get him cause he has snapped off teeth and thrown them on the floor. Taking knives and pens off him cause he is using them as leverage. Bloody handprints on the walls. Bedding caked with blood.
Yes. I have been here before. (I have blogged about it, somewhere here…)
When I tried to talk to him about it, the blank look. The scripting talk. Nestled into me. Burying his face into my chest.
What you know becomes comfortable. I want the gains. I want him to grow and become more like his peers.
I have literally begged for these gains.
But Boo, slow the fuck down OK? Cause I don’t want start wishing for you to start pulling out more teeth so I can feel normal.
One day you are gunna run out of teeth.