When I was about 12, that delicate age where embarrassment comes often and easily, I was in a public bathroom pulling up my britches when I leaned against the stall door for support and it swung wide open (oops, forgot to lock it), revealing to all the other bathroom patrons my prepubescent goodies. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. Until today.
Last weekend, we finally got around to cleaning out the garage and shed following our move 10 months ago. The effort yielded some items we haven't touched since moving here, so they went straight to Craigslist. I had a lady come to the house today to pick up an item. She was overweight. It was obvious. And, my three-year-old pointed it out. He came up to the door, and after she complimented him on his cuteness, he said, while pointing (which made it SO much worse), "Look at that big belly." I could have dropped dead right there on the spot. To make things worse, the lady says, "Yes, I have a big belly." Is it possible to die twice? I made him apologize. Little shit. And the worst part was, I knew she was stopping by on her way to the YMCA. Give her some credit!!
Last night Brad experienced his most embarrassing moment when Layne, standing in line with Dadddy at Walgreens, said, "Look at her big bottom." Then he said it again. Brad knew the lady heard him and there was nothing he could do to cover it up. I like to believe he's only being oberservant of differences, because he is not saying it with spite or malice, but where is this coming from? It's not like we walk around making derogatory comments about the appearances of others. If anything, I certainly don't judge others knowing what they could say about me, like "That lady should wash her hair more often" or "Make-up would make her look years younger" or "Does she wear anything but old work-out clothes and flip flops?" But, that's a whole 'nother topic!
I'm left wondering, what happened to my sweet baby boy? What I'm left with is a shaved-head maniac who laughs at me when I discipline, talks back to me, whines, pouts, tells me I'm mean (ha!), pushes his sister and throws tantrums of epic proportions in stores, all making me look like Mother of the Year. The moments of sweetness are diminishing. I thought this transition was supposed to start at 13, not three! I never really envisioned myself as a stay-at-home mom, but it's a role I've fully embraced nonetheless. But, I'm left wondering why I put myself through this? At the end of every day I feel like I've been beaten, chewed up and spit out. And, I probably look that way, too. I've accepted the fact that I love Layne with all of my being, but I just don't like him a whole lot right now. And that's okay.
