Without getting into matters too intimate, I rather think these are very much a reason for Charlie's routine bouts of insomnia, melatonin take the hindmost. They are why I'm doing a fast bit of laundry at 2.30am and likely why Charlie's had two rounds of showering since midnight.
Of course, they play a part in furious strength behavior storms, acne and, possibly, regular bouts of stomach distress.
They are probably extra hard to deal with for a boy without peers to hang out with, who works out impulses and aggressions sprinting beautifully down the sidewalk with his 43 and several months-old mother running after (and feeling rather pleased at the increase in her wind thanks to daily runs; we did three walls on Wednesday, in part because there was no bike ride as Jim was not only teaching all day, he had to be in the Bronx at 9am for a dissertation defense that ended up not exactly happening).
For the past couple of weeks we've been calling out the praises to Charlie as he's speeding down the sidewalk. For years on years, we've urged him to be active as an antidote for aggression and in an effort to 'help him develop leisure activities.' It's finally occurred to us that Charlie the sprinter is his dutiful response to our years of encouraging him to exercise. Expressing annoyance about him running would only be sending very mixed signals.
Days of cute and toys now past, this growing up stuff is certainly complicated. For sure, it has the potential to be endlessly interesting.
I'm off to check the laundry.