There was a quite a shift in the spacetime continuum over the last 24 hours.
My son turned six December 3.
My first pregnancy. My first birth. It all spoiled me as I thought having a baby was pretty easy with relatively little effort. Not that we didn’t have some scares along the way, but they have been nothing compared to years of infertility and multiple miscarriages that followed.
But he made it, and we marveled at our ability to keep him alive considering we had nothing but common sense (more from me than his father) on our side.
The challenges are much different now that he’s school-aged. He still uses the "you’re not the best Mom! (he’s dropped the Mommy for the most part *sob*)" to try to goad me, but I’m accustom to it. Mr. DD on the other hand, is not, and falls for the power struggle every damn time.
I can almost feel the color drain from a strand of hair some days with XBoy. He’s utterly frustrating!
However, he easily counters those moments with a sugary-sweet counter-attack that while my hair continues to gray, my teeth are rotting from saccharine overload.
There was an afternoon where I was on the computer in the kitchen and he had lost television privileges for one of his outbursts so he had went to play in our bedroom, quietly.
I tip-toed down the hall to spy on him, thinking that he had switched on the TV. Instead I found him with one of my bras on, stuffed with his baby blankets and walking around in a pair of my heels.
When he realized he had been caught, he just flashed me a cheesy smile and then put on a different pair of shoes.
And then this weekend he was asking how Santa gets down chimneys. I explained that he used magic which he was able to make by putting a finger to the side of his nose to slip through any size chimney. His response?
"That’s not magic! That’s how Santa picks his nose!"
Happy Birthday, my dear son.