Thank Heaven For Little Boys

A little bit nostalgia
a little bit pms
I stare at my son's latest artwork
crookedly hanging above my bedframe
and cry a cry usually reserved for
job loss
food poisoning
bad haircuts
the crooked two-wheeled truck
with an American Flag paint job
the kind of picture a mom
would confidantly pit against
Van Gogh or Renoir
I think about his two front teeth
so loose and crooked I want to yank them out in his sleep (but I won't)
His dresser stuffed
with
belly shirts
and
flood pants
Now a full two inches taller than his older brother
his new recess game includes barking like a hyper dog (he's so good at it)
he can't stand tags on his shirts
and says things like
Rockin
and
Gnarly
He went to the rolling rink with a friend last night for the first time
only to come home twenty minutes later
"I Want My Mom."
I step on legos
and curse in Polish (it sounds so much better that way)
and sometimes I wish maybe
he wouldn't interrupt quite so much
but
i know time is fleeting
and he will not always hug me
in front of his friends
his goofiness replaced by
the kind of awkwardness
that puberty brings
his crooked loose teeth
replaced with orthodontic hardware
his morning Spongebob marathon
replaced with long showers and too much cologne
and as I sit here and listen to him
pressing the button on his latest Happy Meal toy
I bite my tongue to keep from screaming and smile at him instead
because I know that in what will seem like mere seconds
He will probably stash
Playboys under his bed
instead of
lightsabers
and
mismatched mittens

Thank Heaven for Little Boys

God Help Me
with the other "milestones"