Edgy Mama

Testosterone is a potent drug. Growing up with sisters, I had no clue as to its true potency until I had a son. Well, that’s not quite true. I have had lots of boyfriends, but, I’ve never examined their behavior as closely as I do that of my son. With good reason.

This morning, my sartorial five-year-old boy told me he wanted to wear his plaid button-up polo shirt, given to him by his grandmother, because he wanted to look “handsome” at school.

“Who do you want to look handsome for?” I asked.

“Well, you think I’m handsome,” he said, batting those impossibly long, black lashes at me (avoiding direct answers seems to be a Y-chromosome trait–or maybe that’s testosterone at work as well).

“Yes, I do think you’re handsome.”

Long pause, then a bit sotto voce, he said: “So does Ana.”

Yes, Ana–the reason I now have to pick him up from school early so he can have five minutes of playground time with the lovely Ana before we have to run to the bus stop to meet his sister. Ana, of Greek descent, with long brown curls and huge brown eyes. She and the boy hug, they play tag, they play hide and seek. Early courting rituals at work.

“So is Ana your girlfriend now?” I asked.

His eyes lit up. He hadn’t thought of that. “Yes. I just made her my girlfriend.”

“Have you told her that yet?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I’ll have to think how to tell her.”

“Just ask her sweetly if she’ll be your girlfriend,” I said. “I bet she’ll say yes.”

He smiled, then proudly buttoned up his handsome shirt. All by himself. Then he forgot to take his Teddy with him, and I had to run down the street, barefoot and in my pajamas, to make sure Teddy made it to school as well.