Growing Up

My son is growing up. He has begun to chastise me for treating him “like a toddler or a five year old”. He tuts with impatience and at the weekend he yelled “Are you ready, Mum? We’ve got to GO!” just like a husband chivvying up his wife. Welcome to the woman’s lie of “I’ll be ready in five minutes”, son.

The other day he recoiled in horror when I unthinkingly popped his finger in my mouth to suck it better after I thought he’d pinched it. “Ugh, Mum that’s gross. I can suck my own finger!” he cried, appalled and disgusted.

Yes you can, love. You’re not a small boy any more. You may talk to my hand as the character SockMonster, watching Thomas the Tank Engine from a bed full of soft toys, but you are also only two years away from becoming a teenager. Despite your immaturity and naΓ―vetΓ© caused by autism, you are still becoming a young man and I need to remember to treat you like one.

It’s hard to adjust from protection and tuition mode to a role of guidance and respect but that’s where we are headed. Carry on, son. Lead the way and I’ll pack the sandwiches. It’s going to be an adventure.



One thought on “Growing Up

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  1. This made me smile. The mothering instinct never goes away. I still occasionally lick my thumb to wipe a smudge on my adult daughters πŸ˜‚ At almost 9 King Ben is still ALL child. A child tyrant at times but still a child. You’ve got an adorable guy there. Good luck on those adventures πŸ‘πŸ»πŸŒŸπŸ’–

    Liked by 1 person

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