Sometimes, He's "Just a Boy"

Sometimes I forget that Morgan is "just" an eight year old boy. That, like an eight year old boy, he's going to exert his independence and ask to do things, just like any other boy his age. See, he does some things that are not "age appropriate," and sometimes my head mistakenly gets wrapped all up in that. This is a parenting fail on my part. Morgan is very good about putting me in my place when this happens. Last night was such an occasion, though it was juxtaposed by him clinging to me as well.

He's still my boy.

Morgan's growing like crazy ( He's currently, we think, around 5'2 and about 105lbs) and clothes shopping is an issue. Or, it is now. He must try things on. I've been hesitant to do this. Gah. Textures? Smells? Gross dressing rooms? Just... no. However, since he's no longer wearing his school uniforms and in need of summer clothes, he needed a to go shopping. Thankfully, he doesn't hate clothes.

We went to Target. I love that store. So pretty. So organized. Nate Berkus has his stuff there. Sorry, I digress. I struck a deal with the big kiddo, "Try on clothes and check out trains, k?" We selected some shirts he liked, all in this really great thin material (thank you, Target!), and some shorts. We headed off to the dressing rooms. And then the big kid emerged.

"Mom, you stay here. RIGHT HERE. You can't see me almost naked. K?"

"Um, okay? I'll wait right outside. See, right here? But you have to let me know how each thing fits, okay? AND DON'T WALK OUT OF THE DRESSING ROOM WITHOUT PANTS!" It was a valid concern, alright?

Seriously? My kid just told me not come into a dressing room with him?! The same child who needs me to shampoo his hair? I know, I'm over sharing, but WOW. 

Y'all, he was great. Just awesome. He was even great when I had to exchange two pairs of short and get different sizes! No meltdowns. No tears.

Maybe I was projecting my own feelings of hatred for the dressing room onto my son. Morgan was just a champ in there.

When we walked out, I had to do some shopping of my own, in the ladies' department. Morgan proved to still be my little boy. He walked around with his arm around me, giving me kisses, totally not like other eight year old boys. At least not the other eight years I know.

Then, when we were at the cash register, he pulled a total Rico Suave on the cashier...

Bailey to the cashier: "Oooh, I really like your store!"

Cashier: "Thanks! I think?"

Morgan: "I really like your eyes..." <as he batted his>

I'm going to have to put this kiddo on a leash... he's becoming too independent, lol.

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