The boy has been on the lookout for the tiniest signs of puberty ever since he started reading about adolescent 'symptoms' in various books about the topic. It's like he can't wait to grow up and get out of here or something. (The girl, however, will live here as long as someone will subsidize her decor and clothing accessory habits. I have a surprise for her... all subsidies end at the age of 18 unless the child in question is enrolled full-time at a college/university.)
Occasionally the boy will be peering at himself in the mirror, as he does for long periods when he's supposed to be showering, and he'll think that he sees something. At this point, even though this is supposedly what he's looking for, he freaks. And then he gets giddy. And then he gets embarrassed. And then he feels the sudden urge to run downstairs in his underwear and share whatever revelation he's just had.
A few weeks ago I was asked to inspect his upper lip for signs of facial hair. Well, of course, there's vellus hair. Which he had just apparently noticed. And which he was mistaking for an actual mustache. No, son, I will not buy you a razor for something that *I* have and don't even shave off. It's the same color as your face. When it starts looking like you have a porcupine growing out of your upper lip and I'm freaking out and crying because OMG MY BABY IS GROWING UP, that is the appropriate time to think you are capable of growing a mustache.
Once or twice, his throat has been itchy from either allergies or being rudely awakened from one of his infamous midafternoon naps, and he's asked me if that means his voice is cracking. D'awww... no, son, sorry, it doesn't.
And once, he came downstairs and wanted to know if all that 'other hair' would match the hair on his head. And I said not necessarily. And then he said, "Well, what if you have really bright hair? Like... red hair?" And I said I had no idea because quite frankly, I'd never asked anyone. Ever. Nor did I intend to. And please walk away now. Thankfully he dropped the subject.
I don't even want to imagine what symptom of adolescence he's going to invent next. I just want to take his face in my hands and look him straight in the eye (well, as straight as he'll look at anyone in the eye. You have about 0.2 seconds to get your message in before he's elsewhere) and say, "Y'know what? Make ya a deal. You quit telling me about imaginary pubertal symptoms, and I'll let you know when I notice something." Because I love that he's excited about getting bigger, and part of me is really, really glad that he comes to me with these sorts of things because it means he trusts me with his body and its issues, but sometimes... sometimes Mama just doesn't wanna know!