I've just learned how my teenage son's mind works

I’ve put my son under surveillance in recent weeks.

Don’t get me wrong, he hasn’t been up to anything. (Not that I know of anyway. Damn it, now I’m worried.)

No, it’s more of a social experiment, I suppose.

I’m trying to understand him, you see.  I’m attempting to get to grips with what makes him tick, what sets him off and why I’m always the last to know what’s going to make him blow.

So instead of nagging and scolding in recent weeks, I’ve simply watched how he operates in the hopes it will ease our increasingly frosty exchanges and play a part in mending bridges which have splintered somewhat since he made his transition from lovable kid to surly teen.

I’ve paid attention to the way he moves around the house with a defensive look on his face, almost as if he’s daring someone to say something critical, so he’ll be ready with that expression.

I’ve studied him as he’s pulled day- old socks from his feet and whipped his younger brother with them then turned to me for a reaction.

I’ve gazed at him as he’s cut his fingernails at the kitchen table almost as if he’s daring me and the rest of the family to vomit on ourselves.

I’ve heard him fart in other rooms, laugh uproariously and then leave the room in question to enquire as to whether anyone heard ‘how good that was’.

I’ve done all this without uttering a word of irritation.

I haven’t reprimanded him on his uncouth behaviour, disciplined him on his appalling lack of manners or requested he see someone about his bodily functions because since he’s become a teenager that has gotten me absolutely nowhere.

In fact, that approach has made our relationship fraught with tension.

Hence, the experiment and vow of silence on my behalf.

In the two weeks since I began my anthropological endeavour, I’ve noticed subtle changes in his demeanour.

Now when he picks his nose and pretends to flick it at his sister, he gives up halfway through because he knows I’m more interested in Eastenders than having yet another dispute over what is considered acceptable behaviour.

Now when he openly ogles women on TV and uses language he could have only have picked up from some misogynistic B-list comedian, I nod along until he leaves the room in irritation, muttering “Ah, whatever.”

Over the last fortnight, he’s closed the fridge door without me asking, he’s stopped rolling his younger brother up in a duvet and sliding him down the stairs and he’s helped me carry shopping in from the car.

The last unexpected move made me realise how bored he’s become.

I suddenly understood that he used actually enjoy the heated exchanges that took place between us. The child was trying to get a rise out of me.

I’m almost embarrassed for him. I mean, what a drama queen. All he had to do was say!

Looks like a little mummy/ son day is in order….