Ever since my son has reached the size of an adult, things have gotten more complicated. We can’t get away with a lot of the things we used to take for granted when he was child-sized. Like child-priced tickets at the movie theater, or kids’ meals when we eat out, or shopping in the boys’ section of the stores. This weekend, we got to experience another big bummer on the trip towards his adulthood. We went bike shopping.

In years past, the child has been easily guided towards the item we want him to have. You know how it’s done. You line up the options you’ve selected for him and let him pick one. You’re guaranteed that he’ll chose one you’ve already approved and he gets a sense of participation in the decision making. It’s win-win.

Fast forward to thirteen and that just doesn’t fly anymore. For one thing, the child is five foot, seven inches tall (and that’s quickly increasing) and weighs about 120 lbs. He’s bigger than most of his friends’ mothers (but not me, yet, I still have two inches on him and a umm, few pounds on him, too). So, it’s already a given that cheap is out. He has to have a full, adult sized bike.

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Under the For Sale section:

FREE TO GOOD HOME: Baby. Eight Months. Cute. Likes: pulling on dog tails, picking outlet covers off electrical sockets, waking every two hours at night, twenty minute naps, screaming in public, practicing a new whining technique that involves a high-pitched squeal/ear-drum-shattering dolphin noise, throwing entire body down on the ground when a bottle is not supplied fast enough, shaking head back and forth in a disagreeable fashion. Dislikes: sleeping, behaving, not screaming, not being held, being tickled, singing and other humans.

Under the Wanted section:

WANTED: Baby from last week. Baby who cuddled, laughed, played and generally did not scream whenever not being held. Baby who slept twelve hours at night and took two hour-and-a-half naps. Baby who was described by a stranger at Target as having a “sweet disposition.” May have also been called “a happy little guy.”

Ugh.

Can you tell I’m in the middle of four-teeth-coming-in-all-at-once-because-God-hates-me hell?

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