Bring It On
I have an almost, practically, might-as-well-be teenager. It seems like just yesterday, he was a curly-headed, tow-headed little blob, cuter than hell and the most miraculous child ever.
Yesterday, I realized how radically things have changed for me. We were driving (of course we were driving) somewhere on a perfectly fine and normal morning, when it became clear to me that every word I uttered and my every gesture were annoying, disgusting, embarrassing and horrifying to my son.
Wow, I thought. He thinks I truly am the stupidest person on the planet.
Beginning this year, I will have a teenager or two or three living in my house for the next 13 years.
It's like the toddler years all over again, except this time, the kids are the hormone-ravaged ones. It's like month after endless month of hazing. It's like running a marathon, but no one is standing on the side of the road holding out a cup of water or cheering us on. Actually, it's JUST like that: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Parent, the one who spends a decade or more in each stage of parenting. We changed diapers for over 10 years, and now we are facing being shat upon in a different way for the next 10+.
All I think of to do is hold on and chant "They will be people again someday. They will be people again someday. They will, please God, be people again someday."
Bring it on. But let me fill my wine glass first.
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