Who the hell are you and what have you done with my son????

So the other night I was talking to my parents on the phone and my dad felt the need to inform me that my son is not the same happy child he was 2 years ago. Once the crushing wave of guilt and the inevitable tears passed, accompanied by the "I am a horrible parent who is somehow making my sweet child miserable" train of thought, reality kicked in. My son is not sad so much as he is a hormonal preteen. And since he's 12, we're only on the cusp of all the sullen and the moody, with MUCH more to come.

Already we are venturing into that scary and previously uncharted territory known as The Adolescent  Years, where hormones, mood swings and rank body odor reign supreme. As a female who was an only child, my experience with boys his age are limited to...well...him. I  was so thrilled when he was born, not just because I had a son, but more because he wasn't a girl who was destined to become a bitchy, snarky teenaged girl at some point. I remember what I was like and there was no way in hell I wanted to go through all the horrible teenagery girlie shit again, especially not from the parental end of it. Apparently I assumed my son would get to about age 10 and suddenly freeze in all his cool, young boy glory, skipping his teens altogether and then thaw out somewhere around 24 into a responsible and well-mannered adult...it must have been the sleep deprivation or denial that my lovely boy would suddenly turn into this pre-man species who would spend hours on end in his room on his laptop, eat a family-sized box of Cheerios in 2 days and have feet that emitted a stink that could peel paint off the walls.

Don't get me wrong...I love every stinky, grouchy, Cheerio-inhaling inch of my son. But no one warned me about this stage. Except for the part about eating every food source that was not nailed down...not only was I warned, I was informed my grocery bill would steadily climb until he moved out. And even then he'd still eat me out of house and home when he and his dirty laundry came home to visit. Still, I'll take the quietly grumpy, eye-ball rolling, "mooooommmm....you already saaaaaiiiid that...I KNOOOOOWWWWW" moaning over the screamy drama-queen antics I used to pull any day of the week.

Besides, one day he will give me grandchildren. And payback (especially in the form of a teenaged daddy's girl) can be quite the hormonal bitch