So my man-child hit 14 on Monday. It's great that he's now 14 as it's a little bit less embarrassing than having to tell people he's 13 when he's almost 6'2" and visibly a big kid.
I took him for his annual doc check up. (You have to do that here as they need the medical records on file at school.) He was a bit nervous about stepping on the scale, even though he's been working out quite a lot and is visibly trimmer than he was 6 months ago. It didn't help that the nurse laughingly (although gently) confirmed with me that he was here for his 14th year check up. Her son, she told us, is 14 next month and doesn't even come up to his shoulder. My man-child laughed the shrugging, semi-mature laugh he does when people tell him that sort of stuff, but I always wonder how he feels about it all.
Anyway, he got on the scales, and let's just say he was over a stone (14 pounds +) heavier than he/we thought he was. "Mom" he shrieked. What on earth did he think I could have done in that moment? Hell, if I could do anything about weight I'd be working on myself wouldn't I? But no, it was "Mom". (Reminding me that he is but 14 and not the 18 that he looks). I probably didn't help by looking at the number and saying "Bloody hell", but we had discussed the fact that muscle weighs more than fat beforehand, and he is looking very trim these days.
Our pediatrician (who has a teenage son) was fabulous; showed him the growth chart, showing that his height and weight were in perfect alignment (off the charts). She made him feel even better by showing him that he's probably going to be 6'5" and will more than likely gain a bit more weight.
But he's still my baby boy. (Well, not the youngest baby boy but one of them anyway!).