Almost.

I recognize that saying this out loud (or, rather, writing it out loud) goes against everything I ever learned in Parenting 101, but here I go.

I think maybe The Who is past the terrible 6-and-a-halfsies. Shh. Quiet. I didn’t say that. I didn’t even think it. I have never even heard The Who. What’s this blog? Shh.

Except, for real. Something has happened in the past week or so that has felt like a continental shift, like a settling in of sorts. Like something monumental happened while at the same time, like, no big whoop. Like, yeah, he’s almost 7. Whatevs.

Please don’t misunderstand; there are still days when I want to kill him in the face. And still moments within otherwise delightful days where I question my motives for ever trying to do anything fun or nice, but by and large? He’s kind of a dreamboat of a kid lately. He does things like say, “I’m ready for bed now,” all on his own and unprompted. He goes searching for his own shoes when we’re getting ready to leave. Yesterday, even when he was mad at me after we had some words, he spoke to me calmly and explained how frustrated he was. He’s held my hand when I asked him to, followed me when I told him to, paid good, close attention when I needed him to and has been, overall, pretty damn agreeable.

I’d like to credit my ingenious positive reinforcement sticker chart that he’s been working on for the past four weeks, but I don’t really think it’s that. I think maybe he’s just turning the corner toward 7, which I have on good authority is a much better year than 6.

But it doesn’t matter anyway. Because now I’ve spoken of it. So that’s the end of that.

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