The Birds and The Bees and The...Pre-K 3's??

From the moment I was told that I would be the mother of a boy, I started planning.  Parents of girls are always talking about raising a lady and it seemed imperative for me to raise a gentleman.  I was blessed to be married to a man whom not only had manners, even if they got left at the backdoor when he came home, but also knew how to treat a woman.  This became my task at hand. I would not only raise a gentleman that could have manners and know how to conduct himself (still a work in progress), but also one that knew how to treat a lady!

I have known since Carter was only a few months old that he held an interest in the opposite sex.  I jokingly laughed about when "the day would come" that I would have to deal with this affliction. When I would have to fend off the girls and rope in my son.  I then began to realize that I might be doing too good of a job at the romantic part when Carter wanted to make out with me.    He came home at the age of 2 with a girlfriend, and at 3 1/2, she's still his number one.  I have been told of his escapades with girls by their mothers.  Zoe, his long-term girlfriend, told her mother that she and Carter kiss at school.  When asked where, she explained "everywhere but the chairs. We fall on the floor when we kiss in the chairs." Just this week his other girlfriend (this one more recent in the picture) told her mother that Carter was her best friend and "he needed to come with them to Disneyworld this summer." I take all of these stories in with smiles and laughs, but inside think thoughts of locking this child up in his room until he's 33. I wonder where I went wrong; where romantic is bordering on sexual at 3 years old.

After the "incident" talk at school (see previous blog), he and I went on our weekly date.  This is usually on a night that Dain works late and I don't want to cook; therefore I reframe it as a date.  This week we went to Chick-fil-A for our dinner and he was having a blast playing on the play yard.  All of a sudden I look in and see two girls violently pulling on him with each one gripping an arm.  In a flash of "OH HELL NO!", I throw on my figurative Supermom cape and charge in to save my son from these two heathen of 6 year olds.  I rush in, flinging the door open, fully ready to discipline someone else's child as they all came down the slide.  I was ready. Carter would be crying. They would be evil. And I would save... no one. Like a popped balloon, my stance was deflated in an instant. My theoretical cape went from flapping in the wind like Lynda Carter, to sagging and faded.  Carter didn't need to be rescued. These girls (again, twice his age) were flirting with him!! His grin was probably as big as I've ever seen it.  I was greeted with, "What Momma?" as two giggly girls continued to pull and hang on him right in front of me, explaining that they were chasing him!

I shuffled back to my seat, and spent the rest of the "date" watching my Carter charm those tramps! They snuck under the platforms. They hung for extended periods in the tunnels. And me, I plotted. I plotted what I would have to do to contain this; this mojo that I did not like! This swag that made me sad and angry all at the same time. This little bad ass inside of him that I knew all too well. It's what I fell for in his daddy!