Like most mothers, my imagination has run wild imagining what my firstborn son would become. I try to be reasonable; no matter which profession he chooses I just hope he becomes a husband and father so that I can have adorable grandchildren as a reward for letting him live.
In all my grandiose imaginings and worst fears, I never imagined the horrible metamorphosis that would take place in my son. Today my playful, all-boy, Mach 2-hair-on-fire son turned into a demon possessed teenage girl. It is the worst metamorphosis I’ve encountered to date, and there has been some major competition.
1. He hates his body and everything going on in it. He has little to no control over everything wrong with it and nothing can fix it.
He woke up at 5:52 and realized something wasn’t right. Everything was wrong about his body. He needed to be changed and his tummy was raring up for Diaper Doom 2; Revenge of the Toddler. It didn’t stop there- sore and in pain, he consoled himself my putting his index finger in his mouth only to realize his new teeth are still tearing through gums. His lips were chapped and bleeding, his head hurt, and days of not wanting to eat or drink anything finally caught up with him. There was only one thing to do. Whine and cry.
2. He just wants to cry, whine and moan while being held. This may NOT be interrupted. If anyone takes a break even to go to the bathroom, the fool will be followed. After all, girls go to the bathroom in packs. Isn’t that where we solve problems?
3. NO one else gets to have any problems that could detract from the misery the likes of which have never been seen. Any normal activities must be punctuated with whimpers, moans, quivering lips, and choked back sobs- at the VERY least.
4. There is NO solution to his list of problems, some of which he can’t identify. None. Anyone trying to find solutions will be punished by an increase of volume and intensity of displeasure.
5. We have gone through numerous wardrobe changes in only 3 hours. The past 48 hours have accumulated 8 loads of laundry.
6. Diverting attention from consoling or needs (both known and unknown) is interpreted, “You don’t love me at all!” There will be NO feeding of other babies, doing laundry, breathing, etc. Anyone who tries to escape for a moment of solitude for any reason will have their crimes recorded and recounted in public at the most embarrassing moment possible.
So how does one handle such a horrible transformation when she is sick as well and must provide for a new baby and the home?
Well, after being smacked in the face with a sippy cup and losing most of my hearing in my left ear, I realized what had happened. I had to identify the problem correctly to come up with an appropriate plan of action. I named his teenage demon alter-ego “Kafka”. I want to crush her, but she just won’t die.
While I tried to wrestle Firstborn into his high chair (which he suddenly realized is NOT an electric chair that should be wrestled against with every fiber of his being) his “a serial killer is chasing me” screams destroyed my accomplishment of getting Secondborn to nap. Jarred and disoriented, he proceeded to smile like Buddha before matching the pitch perfectly and providing me with surround sound. Thus, I thought, “How would I handle this if I had a teenage girl on my hands?”
I put on his favorite movie, got him a new pair of pjs, and gave him Bluebell ice cream.
Trapped and loving it, I have been able to feed and change the baby, get a drink of water and take some Zinc, and regroup with you, dear reader.
For all I know we could be going through puberty and SATs tomorrow. Silver lining: At least we don’t have roaches.