15

It’s taken a little over 3 months to write this, because I think my thoughts on the subject of being a mom to a son who gets closer to leaving home every day… is a little overwhelming.

And because I’m middle aged and pre-menopausal with a teenager. (No one told me about that part…..holy shit the hormones collide somedays.)

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My son drove me home yesterday. On the interstate. With all kinds of traffic. I held onto the “oh shit” handle trying to look totally calm. While feeling not totally calm. All the while knowing he wanted to drive with one hand, just like I do. (his “comfortable” position is a lot like mine, not surprisingly) Knowing that he can’t, because…. he’s driving his mom.

My parents were different. As most parents from generations before are different. I grew up on kool-aid, banana seat bikes, dirt roads and very little parental supervision.

I am part of a generation of parents who are much more emotionally involved with their children. (And if I’m honest, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing…. the jury will be out on that until he’s a full on grown up.) I don’t like to think of myself as a helicopter mom, in fact I’ve made it a point to give my son as much freedom as he needs and wants, while quietly standing in the wings of the stage behind the curtain. Volunteering behind the scenes. Always there, but not too close. And least that’s how I’ve tried to do things.

Independence was something I was raised with. It was expected of me. And I revel in alone time and always have. I was a kid that locked herself in her room with the music blaring on the ghetto blaster, with an empty tape just waiting for the right song to come on the radio so I could record it (did I just age myself?), I was self sufficient. I was fully capable of functioning and advocating for myself and planning my future when I was his age. I was angsty with my mom

And my son…. is a replica of me.

But….no one told me about what it feels like when your kid grows 7 inches in 6 months, or half an inch in 2 weeks and becomes a whole different kind of human being. A different voice. A different face, A different body…… a new personality. No one tells you what it feels like to be tall woman and then have your kid pass you up in height overnight. No one tells you what it’s like to be the mom of an angsty teenager.

When your kids are babies, that first year they change from little squishy monkeys to little walking and talking humans. 15….It’s like that, only way worse. Because now they have opinions and intellectual thoughts and deadlines and baseball and symphony and homework and college calculus….and girls. You go from the excitable mom playing on the floor to one that quietly pays for the pizza and tries not to get too wordy with their friends, yet somehow figures out how to interact with them a little because teenagers… well, need that whether they like it or not. Because I want to get to know them even at this age.

I’ve learned that you have to give yourself time to mourn the little guy time and move into a new stage. And you have to continually do that all their lives.

He’s my one and only. I’ve gotten to do things once and then they are gone…. so if I take time away from my job, or shoo people away because I need time to with him, I never have felt bad over it. I don’t feel bad for doing all the little crazy things. I don’t feel bad for sitting on the floor and playing. Or puddle jumping or making HUGE messes.

He’s a very typical teenage boy that can eat you out of house and home right now and hangs out in his room, not listening to music but watches you tube. But here’s the thing….

He’s a really good kid. Plain and simple. And I’m beyond proud of him. And damn he’s turning into a good-looking young man

And as I write that, I am crying.

Because I’m a crier.

And because I’m middle aged and pre-menopausal with a teenager.

Cheers to the 15th year! Trying to look cool while I hold onto the “oh shit!” handle the best I can.