Growing Older (but not up)!

Last April I was freaking out because my older son had reached Double Digits in age. A year later, I don't actually remember exactly WHY this threw me for a loop...maybe I've just evolved into an exceptionally well-adjusted, go-with-the-flow Mom in the past 365 days (yeah, right....stop laughing so hard!) Anyway, time marches on, now he's 11, and although it seems like his 10th birthday was about a week ago, we're both fine with the new, advanced number. (except it's prime, and I tend to dislike prime numbers...don't get me started...)

I do realize that we're creeping closer to the Big A (yeah, adolescence--shudder!), but I figured 11 couldn't really be that much different than 10, right? Well, wouldn't you know, when Derek woke up on his birthday he immediately announced, "My chin hurts." (Um, okay...did someone punch you in your sleep? That's it, no more Wii Lego Star Wars before bed!) But upon closer inspection, it appeared that he had sprouted his very first small pimple. What a special pre-teen birthday surprise! Of course he reacted with his typical dramatic humor: "Oh no, I have ACNE! Well, at least I have a week to get rid of it because it's Spring Break...I'm gonna have to take zit-popping lessons from Katy Perry!" (the last part thanks to the ProActiv commercials that air endlessly during matches on the Fox Soccer Channel. Apparently watching professional soccer causes oily skin...who knew?)

And then there was the yearly checkup with his pediatrician, during which we discovered that he's packed on 12 pounds in the last year. This may not sound significant at first, but to put it in perspective for my skinny son: with the exclusion of his first year of life, Derek has never gained more than 3 or 4 pounds in 12 months. He still has the metabolism of a hyperactive gnat (grrrr--so jealous!!) but at least he's becoming more...solid (and considering he started out a-few-ounces-shy of 6 pounds, 77-1/2 sounds downright...huge!). This of course was good news to us. But then she had to ruin the happy-growth-spurt-vibe by uttering the absolutely dreaded words--"I'm definitely seeing signs of pre-puberty." Aaarrgh! I swear I wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and start shouting "LALALALA I can't hear you!" But I figured that was not the Mature Adult Role Model that was called for in this particular situation. Somehow I managed (denial) to survive the nasty shock (not thinking about it) and muddle through the rest of the appointment (deal with it later, much later) without further incident. With any luck Derek will remain my oblivious little boy for a bit longer (fingers crossed...and toes).

Speaking of which, I breathed a sigh of relief when, later that day, he came into my room and solemnly proclaimed, "Now that I'm 11, I must take the next step forward and become more mature." He paused, presumably to allow his grave words to penetrate with the proper dose of seriousness...and I braced myself for what was to come...then he broke into a devilishly-cheesy grin, threw up his hands, and yelled, "PILLOW FIGHT!" So at least for today, my firstborn--the Gleeful Gooberhead--seems to be clinging tenaciously to his childhood with both hands. Whew!