The patch seen 'round the world
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Summer has been crazycakes around here. The book I am working on is due in two weeks. The campaign I have been working on for my alma mater ends this week. I have already started working on projects as our elementary school PTA's VP of Ways and Means (read: fundraising, a specialty I never knew I would hone). We've had one week of camp and several weeks of Oh My God I am Going to Lose My Shit.
This past week, I took Firstborn to the pediatrician for a camp physical in preparation for his first sleepaway camp experience later this summer. Everything was going routinely until my long-legged offspring stretched out on the examining table and folded his arms under his head. I am not huge on sleeveless shirts for my boys, but I did buy Firstborn one tank for the summer because it says "Baseball Legend" on it -- something he definitely believes he is. My point is, I never see my child's armpits.
And there it was: a patch of hair.
Not fine little blonde body hairs. This was a patch of longer, brown, still fine and delicate hair. In his armpit.
Firstborn turned nine last week (another post I have yet to write). He's only just nine years old. I didn't really expect patches of anything to be growing on his body yet.
I wasn't able to contain myself. I audibly gasped, and I called his pediatrician over to him. "What is THAT?!" I demanded.
"Hmm," he answered. "Nine is a little young for puberty in boys. But yeah, that looks like the beginning of something right there!"
He asked Firstborn if he could check "under the hood" one more time, and he confirmed that nothing else was growing patches. Which is reassuring, yes, but... still. There is a patch. In his pit.
The doctor told me to watch for any more signs of things revving up, like body odors or growth spurts, but explained that sometimes these things pop up and go nowhere for a while. That would be nice, since we haven't even tackled fourth grade yet.
Shocked, I walked zombie-style through the rest of the exam, left with our completed camp physical form, and piled the kids back in the car. "Mom, why did you get so upset when you saw that hair under my arm?" Firstborn asked from the back of the van as we pulled out of the parking lot.
I paused. "It just means you are growing up," I answered slowly. "And sometimes that is hard and a little scary for mommies to see their babies grow up."
He snickered softly from the back, and he said nothing more. Since then, it's been like Poe's Tell-Tale Heart, pulsing from beneath his clothes and glowing in my brain: pit hair. Pit hair.
Puberty.
Here it comes, ready or not.
This past week, I took Firstborn to the pediatrician for a camp physical in preparation for his first sleepaway camp experience later this summer. Everything was going routinely until my long-legged offspring stretched out on the examining table and folded his arms under his head. I am not huge on sleeveless shirts for my boys, but I did buy Firstborn one tank for the summer because it says "Baseball Legend" on it -- something he definitely believes he is. My point is, I never see my child's armpits.
And there it was: a patch of hair.
Not fine little blonde body hairs. This was a patch of longer, brown, still fine and delicate hair. In his armpit.
Firstborn turned nine last week (another post I have yet to write). He's only just nine years old. I didn't really expect patches of anything to be growing on his body yet.
I wasn't able to contain myself. I audibly gasped, and I called his pediatrician over to him. "What is THAT?!" I demanded.
"Hmm," he answered. "Nine is a little young for puberty in boys. But yeah, that looks like the beginning of something right there!"
He asked Firstborn if he could check "under the hood" one more time, and he confirmed that nothing else was growing patches. Which is reassuring, yes, but... still. There is a patch. In his pit.
The doctor told me to watch for any more signs of things revving up, like body odors or growth spurts, but explained that sometimes these things pop up and go nowhere for a while. That would be nice, since we haven't even tackled fourth grade yet.
Shocked, I walked zombie-style through the rest of the exam, left with our completed camp physical form, and piled the kids back in the car. "Mom, why did you get so upset when you saw that hair under my arm?" Firstborn asked from the back of the van as we pulled out of the parking lot.
I paused. "It just means you are growing up," I answered slowly. "And sometimes that is hard and a little scary for mommies to see their babies grow up."
He snickered softly from the back, and he said nothing more. Since then, it's been like Poe's Tell-Tale Heart, pulsing from beneath his clothes and glowing in my brain: pit hair. Pit hair.
Puberty.
Here it comes, ready or not.
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