Having a son who is in touch with his emotions is both a curse and a blessing.
It’s all fun and games when he’s making me look beautiful, but not so fun when he refuses to go anywhere that is “more than 4 miles away from our house” because he’ll “miss his one and only mother TOO bad.” (his words, people, his words)
It’s precious when he cries on rainy days because he feels sorry for the homeless people or when he cries during sad movies, or at the end of sad songs. Not so precious when I tell him to STOP TELLING ON HIS BROTHER ALREADY and he responds with “Oh, so I’m not supposed to care if my brother mistreats me?” To which I respond with “Well, you have to grow some thicker skin.” To which he responds with “Mom, I’m SENSITIVE, I can’t help it, I was BORN this way!!”
I love that he’s sensitive, I just wish he wasn’t SO sensitive. I love that he’s not ashamed to cry about things that hurt him or make him sad. I love that he thinks girls are the greatest thing in the world and that it’s his job to be “The Protector of Girls”, I love that he’ll play with the girls and not care if Andrew makes fun of him because, well, he can’t help it if he’s a “tomgirl”. I love that he is who he is and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. I’m so proud of him for that.
That said, it’s hard not to get upset when he’s telling on his brother for the 80th time because his brother “hurt his feelings”. I mean, come on, since when do boys HAVE FEELINGS? (Kidding! Sort of. No, really! Kidding!)
I don’t want to paint the wrong picture of my son here, because he’s NOT a crybaby, he’s one of the funniest, toughest, most outspoken little boys I’ve ever known. He’s just very in touch with his feelings and extremely in tune with his emotions. I just don’t quite know how to handle one’s “sensitive side” when the one in question was just talking about poop, farts,bungholes and really hot girls five minutes earlier.