Tuesday, July 15, 2008

And so it begins...

So I'm lying in bed this evening playing with our baby boy, Brayden, when in comes our oldest son, Anthony. He's crying crocodile tears as he throws himself on the bed and proceeds to tell us that he's tired of being "fat". Now mind you he's nine years old, weighs 104 lbs, and stands at exactly five feet. Not your average nine year old. Not even your average 12 year old for crying out loud!! Fat is not a word anyone could sanely use to describe him. Gigantor maybe, but certainly not fat.

My husband and I practically melt, our hearts going out to him. We're not an unhealthy family, by no means, but Anthony hears us both complain about our weight that I know we've given him the wrong impression.

Not only is he being hard on himself about his weight, but now he's self-conscious about his glasses (that he's worn since the 1st grade), he's starting to get pimples on his chin, AND he's got hair growing under his arms and, well according to him "down there" also. Of course my face was beet red and my mind was racing at what the hell I was going to do about all of this.

He's only nine! Okay, so he turns 10 at the end of next month, but he's not old enough to be going through puberty! I'm not ready for him to be going through puberty! So what do I do? I send in my hubby. No one knows what to say to him better than his Dad, right?

So what does Dad do? He gives him a high-five and a Borat "Very Nice". Oh boy…the only thing I have to say to this is "Thank GOD we don't have girls!"

In lieu of Dad's "pep talk", I'm preparing myself to have a more detailed conversation with him. But first, we're hitting the store to buy his Dad a bicycle so they can bike together while I go running with Brayden (I don't ride bikes; that's a whole other story). Then come contacts, which were already in the works for his birthday, and of course the face wash. Some days I wonder why I ever quit smoking, because if ever there are moments for it...this would be one of them.

1 comment:

Laura said...

Hey girl, I tagged you on my blog. I hated to be a party pooper and not keep the darn thing going. Your turn!