Tom needs to come home.
I can't deal with boy hormone stuff with a straight face.
For instance, during our stay in San Antonio, Tommy apparently had his first wet dream, and my response was to go, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," over and over again.
I also told him to burn his underwear.
Then I told Tom he needed to GET HOME RIGHT NOW.
Tommy knows about most of his boy stuff because I sort of thrust a book about it in his face one day. He was thrilled, and would report to me exactly what was happening to his body.
This made me go:
But I can't act disgusted, because I don't want Tommy to think it's wrong. So I'm all, "Wow, amazing, I think it's fabulous that you now have three armpit hairs."
I want my boy to stay tiny and cute. Not smelly and hairy. But puberty is happening, and it's happening at full force.
(And PS: Tommy said I could blog about this. I asked. I promise. He almost seems PROUD that it happened. I guess it's a guy thing.)