Skivvies

For the most part, I would say that my children are (to use a grossly over-used phrase) as different as night and day. Their looks, personalities, interests, temperaments: the whole package really. As you may have gleaned from past posts, my 9yo is more of the cut-up. I can typically depend on my 11yo to be the voice of reason, and to be the tender, serious, and sensitive one when the situation deems it necessary.

Today I took my son to the doctor for his 11 year shots. Now I obviously don’t have to do them for any school requirements (the PBA is a little lax on such things, if you want my honest opinion), but I figured I had better keep him up to snuff, just in case we ever do main-stream him again.

We still take the boys to a pediatrician (we are all just a little bit more comfortable there). When he was younger, he would be engrossed for the longest time, studying all the Disney posters in the waiting room.  As we sat there, it was abundantly obvious that these would no longer hold his attention, especially today. Getting shots was not something my son was looking forward to…who would? He sat in the waiting room, yammering away (I say this with all the love a mother can have for her child) like he does sometimes when he’s a little anxious.

We were finally ushered into the room. I was in the room with him, as he is still my baby. I thought he was going to get 2 shots (turned out to be 3…oops!) and I just wanted to make sure I was there in case he wanted me. OK, mostly I wanted to make sure the nurse was doing it right; she’d probably never given a shot before so it was good that I was there in case she needed my help.

The nurse had him take off his shoes and she weighed and measured him. After that, she told him to take off his shirt and shorts, but leave on his underwear. Panic spread across his face and he whispered to me, “Mom, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Oh. My. Gosh. “Are you kidding me?!?”

“No! I didn’t put any on today.”

Well, this was somewhat believable because there, for a while, one member of my household was boycotting his underwear. I never could exactly ascertain WHY, but it was an all-out boycott.  The laundry basket confirmed it; we never had to fold underwear for him.

However up to this point, I was unaware that this child had also taken a staunch opposition to skivvies, but then, I haven’t folded the laundry as of late (insert a huge thank you to my fabulous husband right here); I can get clothes into the washer, and from the washer to the dryer. And I can even get the clean laundry into the basket. But I really have problems sticking the landing. But I digress.

My mind raced for what to do. I, as the rule-follower, was thinking, “Well, she said to take off your shorts, so you’d better take off your shorts.” But that very same brain could not quite figure out what to do with the whole “nudity” issue. I was clearly not concerned for the doctor’s sake, but for my own.

I love and adore my son but I am fully aware that he is becoming a young man, and there are certain things which a mother of an 11yo or older should probably not do if it can be helped at all. Seeing him nude was high on my list of things to avoid.

I started to stand up and leave the room – and leave him to his nude self, although as of yet he hadn’t even taken off his shirt. “Well…I, uh…” I stammered.

A huge smile broke across his face. “I’m just kidding. But I gotcha!” Then he proceeded to casually slip off his shorts, and throw them on the bench next to me.  The 9yo, who was also in the room and a witness to the events, roared with laughter.

Clearly my children are spending a little bit too much time together.