He is the fifth, my baby. And he operates without a filter. If he thinks it--he says it. It’s good when he is telling me how much he loves me and what a wonderful mom I am. It’s bad when he is introducing me to his girlfriend Ava’s mother and in front of her and all his first grade friends and teachers he asks “Mom, doesn’t she look just like Ava except she has that huge nose?”

The other kids and I anticipate it. When we are out in public and spot a person or situation that would pique his curiosity, we divert his attention or I give him the stern wide-eyed you better not say anything glare. Sometimes he sees it before we are able to run interference and it happens. About the obese man eating ice cream at Dairy Queen “hey mom, that guy needs to eat more vegetables and less ice cream—don’t ya think?” To the mother whose child is throwing a temper tantrum at the table next to us “your kid should get more sleep—it will help with her temper problems.”

What he says is outrageously offensive. But he gets away with it because he is so non-judgmental. He’s just giving the facts as he sees it. And he’s really cute. He prefers his hair in a buzz cut because “it feels like Lola” (his miniature dachshund sidekick). His brown eyes are so huge and bright with dark long lashes, that they are often mistaken for blue. His skin is white with a few faint freckles spackled across the bridge of his nose and his large ears stick out slightly. He lives life in a state of constant wonder and amusement. Everything has a point of interest for him—even the mundane.

I feel guilty about this, but I take advantage of this gift he has for telling it like it is without offending. I use him for my own needs. I regularly check in with him about how he sees me. I shamefully probe him for his perspective on me and my mothering skills.

“Do you think I am a grouchy mom?”

“No, you are not a grouchy mom—not today anyway.”

“Did I sound mean when I told your sister she couldn’t go?”

“Yes, if I was her I would be sad but not because I couldn’t go, but sad cause you are the mom today.” Ouch.

“Do you think I’m a nice mom or a mean mom?”

“You’re a medium mom…Adam, now his mom is a nice mom.”

He is my mirror. In his unassuming ways he allows me to see what others see so I can tweak it or soften it as the need arises. I often wonder how much longer his thoughts will come out unfiltered or how long he will be able to say what he’s thinking without causing great offense.

This morning as he hopped off my lap to get on the school bus he proclaimed “I love you woman—you are my smooshie belly mama.”