Recently I found myself wishing for Boo to be 3 again.
Back to the days where the only words he uttered were echolalic.
Where meltdowns could last hours. Resulting in even more hours of us sitting on the floor, limbs entwined to apply as much deep pressure to his body as possible in a human macrame of sorts.
The days spent in intensive therapy, nights researching and creating materials.
The good old days.
I have always maintained that teenagers suck. They are designed that way so they can spread their wings and fly, and as parents we can let them go.
And breathe a huge sigh of relief as we slam the door on their ungrateful arses.
But when you have a teenage toddler things are different.
Right now we have a reward chart on our fridge for our almost 15 year old manchild, saying that if he doesn’t bite or hit anyone this week he can buy a game designed for babies.
Our house is filled with reading materials about puberty and relationships aimed at his developmental age, and while driving home from school one day Boo decided to inform me that if a boy rubs his penis sometimes white stuff called semen comes out.
(I was driving. I deserve recognition that not only did I NOT crash the car I managed to keep my composure and had a discusion about it. A motherfucking DISCUSSION ABOUT MASTURBATION ON THE WAY HOME FROM SCHOOL. RESPECT.)
And when he got in the door he raced to his computer to finish the game he was playing on the Sesame Street website.
There is a girl at school that wants to come over for a play date.
Her words. Not mine.
She has pretty eyes.
Her and Boo clash constantly, she teases him and he hits or bites her.
The teachers tell me that they are flirting with each other. That they have crushes.
My Sesame Street website playing, Blues Clues video game playing, Teletubbies obsessed 6ft 5 baby has hormones rushing through his body that he cannot make sense of.
He doesn’t know what to do with.
He is becoming aggressive.
No where near as bad as when he was 3. Or even 7.
But with a lot of height and a hell of a lot of weight behind him, throwing a tantrum in the general vicinity of anyone is a lesson in agility.
Get out of the way or else.
Thankfully, everyone has got out of the way.
Except for the girl.
And he gets so frustrated and angry and HORMONAL that she gets bit.
It reminds me of when the little girl I used to look after as a teen, loved her bunny SO VERY MUCH that she couldn’t contain herself and she squeezed it to death.
That the girl and my boy don’t know how to process this teenagerdom, developmentally small children as they are in grown up peoples bodies, means that they are going to react in WILDLY inappropriate ways.
That the girl will be told over and over and OVER again to not say this particular phrase to my boy or he will bite her, yet she will go out of her way to do it.
That my boy will be told over and over and OVER again to walk away and tell a teacher if she annoys him, but time and time again he reacts with aggression and, if pushed far enough, biting her on top of the head.
There is no reasoning.
There is no bargaining.
There is a long road ahead of us trying to integrate very adult urges, into age appropriate responses, in essentially children that are only just learning how to play.
But nature marches on, whether you are ready for it or not.
Resistance is futile.