[Editor's Note: The following post contains material that is accurately depicted by its title. If you are pregnant, nursing, may become pregnant or have a hyperactive gag reflex, please consult your doctor before reading.]
Tyler has a monster zit. ON HIS NOSE. And it's been there for ALMOST A MONTH.
We all know that zits are just one of many horrible rites of passage into adolesence:
"Hello, and welcome to Adolesence. After you fill out these forms, please proceed to the next station where you'll up your Acne Pack... then move forward to the the Body Hair Kiosk. After that, you'll continue down a long hallway to the Body Odor Wing (it's a separate wing for obvious reasons). Your last stop is the Hormone Supercenter, where you'll get juiced up with our special cocktail that includes: Foul-Temperedness, Awkward Bumbling with Adults, General Apathy and Disinterest, Self-consciousness and, every mother's favorite, Mouthiness. Enjoy your stay!"
Apparently T's Acne Pack included one of those big, red numbers that glows in the dark and lives underground for days on end, and only seems to get bigger and redder. Most of us know what the life cycle of a zit should be, even these beauties... but I'm telling you, this one has transcended FAR beyond that cycle.
After many days with no whitehead in sight, we sterilized a needle and I made him take a couple of stabs at it, just to see if we could stir things up a bit. He didn't want to, but I didn't care—by then it was in such a state of crimson bloatedness that Rudolph himself would've laughed and called him names! So against his will, and under my close supervision, a pokin' we did go.
It semed to help—a day or two later he managed to pop it—but the red blister, while definitely more deflated, remains to this very day. At this point I don't know whether I should call a dermatologist or a priest... but the exorcism looks more promising with each passing day. (BTW, if you're wondering if he was sporting it for school pictures... of course, my friends, of course. Could it happen any other way?)
And while we're on the subject of the joys of puberty...
Last weekend I was in my room reading—minding my own business, not bothering anyone— when T appeared and proudly announced that he has armpit hair. He had just taken a shower, so he had a towel wrapped around his waist... and just in case his declaration wasn't scary enough, he threw his arms up in the air and leaned in so I, too, could behold the tender sprouts—all nine of them.
I tried to be enthusiastic, but I think I came off as mortified. Even Dave cried TMI on that one, which was Tyler's cue to start cracking jokes about combing and braiding it.
Seriously, people... there's only so much testosterone-laden puberty humor a mother can take.