12!

Holy Hell. The boy has a fuzzy mustache. Just enough to make his lip look a little dirty. And me to feel a little sad. He's growing up. 5'2". 12 years old in less than 24 hours. 12! He's literally 10 times bigger than he was at birth. He wears Adult Small. Men's shoes. Which for the tiny bit of additional material has an amazing price increase.

A 'tween'.

If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times... They say 'tween' on television because they can't say asshole. Not to say he's that bad, but he's a little bit of a ball of hormones. Something that was fine on Tuesday is a disaster on Wednesday. I don't know how he doesn't pull muscles with his eye rolls. They're spectacular.

He's so good at, "Whaaaaat? Mommmmmmmmmm?" that it feels like I personally trained him to push my own buttons.

But then, he'll come and insist upon a hug. Tell me that he loves me and we'll snuggle on the couch and watch some television. He's sweet to his core and I hear from his teachers that he's a great kid. He works hard at school. And honestly, I think he's a great kid, too.

His gift this year? A kayak. He wanted a laptop. Felt like him floating around in the lake was safer than internet access. Because, boobs. And a conversation I'm not ready for. 

Manly.

Ladies man.

Man's man.

Man about town.