The first werewolf story was probably written by the parent of a teenager. Those seemingly sudden changes that occur overnight, both physical and emotional. "Why is young Theodoric suddenly so distant and brooding? Why are his clothes torn to shreds on a regular basis? Can it be that we have not been worshipful and supportive parents? Perhaps he needs a bleeding, or a hole drilled in his skull to release the demons."
Nope. No amount of bloodletting or trepanning will bring about the changes that you might expect. My son's proudest accomplishment this summer has been his new-found ability to sleep until nearly noon. This has corresponded directly with the increase of his nocturnal activity. There was a time when he insisted on being in bed long before his mother and me turned out our own lights and closed our eyes. Lately we have been only dimly aware of his night time goings-on. We are only vaguely aware of his rumblings and clanking about after we have tired of listening for his eventual surrender to slumber.
By contrast, I have become freshly aware of the increasing size of my little boy. My first recognition of his expanding size was a morning not too long ago when I went to try and stir him from his mid-morning haze and I grabbed the only part of him that was sticking out from under the covers: his ankle. There was a time when my thumb and forefinger fit neatly around this joint, and a simple tug was all it took to get him moving. Not anymore. My son's leg is now a substantial limb that is more than a handful, and the hope I had of yanking him out from under his many blankets evaporated abruptly. Even more so after I heard the guttural moans coming from the lump on the bed. I slunk out of the room quietly, so as not to awaken the beast within.
I did make a point, later in the day, of checking his teeth for any odd pointedness or stray bits of flesh and bone.