Age.

That’s it, I’ve finally realized that I’m old.  I’ve hit milf status.  I’ve hit… the first steps towards the end of the line.  It’s only a matter of time before I have to invest in wrinkle creams and Depends.

When I visited my family this weekend I saw the following sign on my son’s door:

except for Mom, this means you... for now.

My oldest son lives with my dad right now.  He’s six.  I don’t remember getting so private when I was his age.  Hell, the exact opposite seems to be the case as I’ve gotten older.

My son still calls me Mommy.  But he’s growing up.  They grow up far too fast.

This should not be a shock to me, yet it is.  I like to focus on teaching my son to be independent and encourage him with space and activities to help built that foundation while also balancing the value of outside relationships.

In suburbia, having grown up in a small town in IL about the same distance from the city as my son does, so much is lost in translation.  I find myself having to correct my son’s clouded vision of where Mommy lives and works as being negative.

I’ve found there is more babying done within a suburban community, whereas city kids are forced to learn real world applications sooner weather they like it or not.  Sink or swim.  No one is going to give a shit about you except you.  Harsh, but real.

I’m a very proud mother today.   It makes me smile a bit to see that my son is learning this lesson earlier on his own.  It appears to be coming primarily from him.

So if he wants someone to knock before entering his room, I’ll gladly do it.  Even if I’m not one of the ones he’s referring to.  Because later, when he could be potentially getting into more trouble than a little childish bickering over who gets to play Sonic or who gets the blue mouse in Mousetrap, he will be more open and willing to share it with me.  Respecting your child’s privacy to encourage openness…  sometimes a little common decency and reverse psychology goes a long way.