No Wonder It’s Called Roughhousing!
My 7-year-old kicked my butt
Recently, I cajoled my 7-year-old son up to my room for some mommy-son cuddling when a surge of testosterone ripped through me. I started tackling him, and we began to roughhouse.
I head-locked him and got him in some knee-pretzel holds, and we were laughing. He was trying to get away while I was telling him he can’t get away from his old mom. This went on for a while … until I broke a sweat, my heart rate sky-rocketed, and I needed to stop.
No wonder it’s called roughhousing! No wonder they leave this stuff to the men; it’s hard work! And I got jabbed in the face a few times and kneed in the female parts (good thing I’m done reproducing). Eventually I admitted defeat. Well, I didn’t admit defeat; I kind of just let him go and pretended to be defeated. That’s my story anyway.
And then we snuggled up and watched some SpongeBob for a while.
As much as I thought I’d enjoy the rough-and-tumble playtime with my son, I much prefer the snuggly cuddly time spent with him. I’ll leave the rolling around on the floor and bashing each other’s heads together to Dad!