Pube-tude occurs in the beginning stages of puberty. It is a period of tween angst where the male attitude resembles the split personality traits of Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde. It is likened to the symptomatic rage of PMS. Okay, maybe it’s not that bad but he’s definitely not the kid who used to happily answer to “Mommy's munchkin”. There are still heart melting moments when he genuinely smiles at me with all of his boyish charm, however, those are usually few and far between the times that a swift glance his way can make my blood boil.
The tone of his voice is so deep it is bottomless. I swear it all happened overnight. (Insert dramatic sigh while clutching pearls with a single tear sad face emoticon) His words have taken on a not-so melodic tone. In comparison, the sound would be equivalent to being “chopped and screwed”. And believe me, I feel like I need to “sip on some siz-zurp” to deal with it. No matter the question asked or statement made, it’s as if the energy to muster up a response is agonizing.
Amidst the growing pains, for the both of us, I have taken this opportunity to recreate myself as a parent and create my own alter ego. I figure now is the perfect time to not only throw some tantrums of my own (it’s quite effective for freaking him out) but to also offer critical guidance in a no-nonsense kind of way. My main focus is being direct and resilient, not giving in to lifting the restraints I’ve placed on him. Doing my best to teach the hard lessons. Helping him to understand that the world is not forgiving. I’ve always been the fun, carefree, and understanding mom. Those traits are now hidden in order for me to administer the wrath of necessity. It’s still been really hard to carry out the actions that I’ve threatened to take when his good sense fails him. But I can’t fail him, so I do. I must treat him as cold as the world will one day. He must be prepared and learn to act accordingly. This is a detrimental phase in both our lives. He will always be my baby, but I can no longer treat him as a child.