The. Biggest. Day. Ever. (Until The Next One)

It's here. The big ONE SIX. That's right people, I'm officially the mom of a 16 year old. This gave me a little cause for concern and made me question some people (read: everyone who came in contact with me today)  if I looked old enough to have a 16 year old son. Luckily, they were all polite enough to lie and tell me no. Thanks guys!

Because he's a strapping, working lad now, I scheduled his check up today, his birthday, so that he could renew his working papers. Sixteen year olds can work longer hours. I'm giving myself a pat on the back for the foresight and efficiency I've displayed in making the appointment on his actual birthday. He didn't seem to care. Until we went to the appointment.

Now, I was just there last week with my daughter, doing the same "before school starts they need a physical" visit. We were out of there in under 30 minutes. Today, I look at my watch and I see it's been 50 minutes and he isn't out yet. I'm thinking up scenarios of why he could be delayed with my fabulous overactive imagination running wild. (It ran the gamut from they found something concerning, or he's sexually active but can't tell his mom and now there's a drip and burn sensation, or worse, he's telling them I abuse him because I'm so strict and they have to call CPS to investigate the claim and won't let him leave the exam room until they come talk to me. I know, I know, I need to stop watching so much tv.)

Finally, he comes out and calls me into the room so the good doctor can talk to me for a minute. At 16, it's recommended that they get a Menactra shot. Okay, well, considering the things my imagination just came up with in the waiting room, I don't need to add Meningitis to the list so, " Yes, please!" And the doctor makes some comment about how mean of a Mom I am to make my son get a shot on his birthday. "I'M BEING EFFICIENT DAMMIT! AND HE NEEDS HIS WORKING PAPERS!"

Ok, so I didn't yell. Or say dammit to the doctor. But I wanted to. Now that I'm feeling the sting of Mom guilt, I restrain myself from picking on his spider man band-aid. Again, I wanted to. (C'mon, a six foot tall 16 year old wearing a spider man band-aid? That's funny. Admit it.) Luckily, the way through any male's heart is through his stomach and I pacified him with "Birthday Pizza".

Somehow though, I think years from now I'm still going to hear: "Remember that time you made me get a shot on my birthday?" I'll just have to make sure I have plenty of pizza on hand. And maybe a spider-man band-aid or two.