My oldest son is 12.
Last night we were watching LOST together and I happened to just glance over at him. His legs are longer now, and he’s taking on that gangly look of a teenager. He’s letting his hair grow so it’s now shaggy and in his eyes and he reminds me of the boys in the late seventies early eighties who drove Camaros and listened to Molly Hatchet.
My heart stopped.
My baby isn’t a baby anymore. He was a 5lb 6oz little tree-frog when he was born. But when I look at him now, I don’t see the baby.
I was having this serious moment of melancholy over my baby growing up, when he decided to rip one that blew a hole in my chair. Then he sniffed and started laughing.
I made a God-awful face and said something similar to “You’re not right.”
and he said, “What?” (and he added something else, which I refuse to print here)
Well, that set my melancholy at ease. He’s not growing up that fast after all. LOL
Bitchin' Fiction: Musings by author Melissa McKenzie / Melissa Francis 
yep. he takes after his mother in that respect.she usually blames it on the cat.
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hah.that cat doesn’t blow holes into the furniture.he is much too sophisticated and regal for that.much like myself.
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This cracked me up…once upon a time, my boys were at that stage, all legs and elbows and attitude. I used to let Jason start the car for me to let it warm up on cold mornings (he was still too young to drive, but not so young he didn’t fantasize about it). He used to leave gassy little presents in the front seat. Jerk.And I know you’re too regal for that. š
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