HELP, I've Created a Teenage Monster!

I remember it well... T.V. snuggles, bedtime cuddles. Today a sharp memory penetrated my weary mind - one of blowing raspberries on my son’s stomach as I changed his nappy. Followed by his glorious chuckle, empowering me with the knowledge I was blessed to have such a beautiful little boy, a glorious carefree bundle that made me feel happy and fulfilled. His life was carefree anyway.

Naturally when you become a mother, you marry into worry. You check they’re still breathing when the monitor goes quiet, rather than relax in the knowing they’ve actually just gone to sleep. You watch them intently when they eat a cracker, while a back slap lingers for action inside a tense body in case they choke on it. You chart their bowel movements to make sure bodily functions are operating appropriately for a human being, and adjust the fibre content in their diet accordingly if the chart doesn’t accurately reflect plunket standards. While our little carefree bundles make us feel happy & fulfilled, it was clear from the onset that being a mum was never going to be conducive to a stress free life.  

When my son was a baby, I was sharing with a woman I worked with how much I enjoyed being a Mum, and I remember clearly her telling me “it just keeps getting better” the older they get. She had teenagers then and in the rose-tinted naivety of early motherhood, I was inspired by her comment. I looked forward to the years ahead, believing that it would “just keep getting better.” In all honesty, I couldn’t imagine it was possible, but I trusted her, she seemed like a wise woman.

To be fair, it did get better as each year passed. It was a beautiful thing to watch my son grow and learn, and become more independent. You can’t put a price tag on the pride a mum feels watching her son go to school on his first day, or when he invites his new friend for a play date. One of the lasting memories I have of his early childhood was when I took him to the circus and he had $5 in his wallet to spend as he desired. He saw glow-in-the-dark fans being paraded for sale amongst the aisles and desperately wanted one. So I urged him on his way with his little green wallet to make the purchase. I cried quietly with a mixture of happy and sad feelings as I watched him anxiously approach the girl and open his wallet to give over his $5 and receive the fan. His face when he came back to me is something I’ll never forget. He was so full of pride for himself and what he’d achieved. It struck me then and will always remain with me as his very first act of independence without me at his side. He was so trusting of my subtle guidance, and in his ultimate success that it would never have occurred to him in a million years what a significant act that was in the history of his growth, and our relationship. It was the first time I realised he could achieve things without me.

This week that little boy turned 13. Now he has a black wallet with skulls on it and an EFTPOS card inside, linked to his personal bank account. I am absolutely no longer needed to suggest or encourage him in any way to make independent purchases; he can do that all by himself. I don’t get snuggles on the couch anymore, and as of last week, I no longer get a cuddle at bedtime either. In fact, bedtime isn’t really even a “thing” anymore, because I’m normally asleep before him.

I’m hesitant to put a label on it, because he’s only just hit ‘teenage’ years, but something has changed; roles have shifted, big time. It’s not a case of me feeling I’m not needed so much, it’s a case of me being obsolete. Unlike the green wallet days, there’s no amount of urging him to do something now that will actually make him do something. Everything has somehow turned on its head. It’s now him dishing out the demands, mine fall on deaf ears. Recently he was hounding me incessantly to buy something on his behalf from trade me, all the while grief stricken he wasn’t old enough to do it himself, and I told him it would have to wait until after I’d cooked dinner (yes, the current state of affairs is that his needs are far more important than feeding the family). After dinner when I had some free time, I approached him and said I had time to make the trade. However, he had subsequently engaged in another activity, so my ‘intrusion’ was disruptive. When I then suggested to him that I was offering him a window of opportunity and couldn’t promise when I’d next be free to do it, he replied “Why do you suddenly care about me now when you haven’t cared for me for the last 12 years?" Nice, green wallet boy, way to go dismembering cherished memories.

My husband and I went to a lecture recently about the “teenage brain” and what happens. Apparently they regress to the same state of mental affairs one describes as the terrible-twos. They temporarily (there’s hope) lose the layer of reason and judgement and regress back to the base emotional layer they first develop when they’re still very young. So something very small and seemingly insignificant can blow out of all reason and context towards apocalyptic proportions. Apparently the parental method to deal with this is exactly the same as one would do in the terrible-twos situation, which is to ignore. DO NOT ENGAGE. Take it from me, that’s easier said than done when your child is not two, but 13.

Sadly, it seems to me the only thing that motivates a teenager to act is quite simply whether it’s self-serving or not. This ignites the parental struggle and responsibility we feel to teach our children that’s not the reality of life. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do, for the greater good, for the team. But try telling that to a two year old.

What he doesn’t understand now, but will come to again one day, is that I’ll always be his mum, and he’ll always be my little boy. I’ll be by his side whether he wants me to be or not, whether he sees me or not, whether it irritates him or not. I married worry when I had him; I’m committed. I’ve grown to become secure in the knowledge he breathes on his own every night, but I’ll never stop caring. What he also doesn’t understand is that I still see him often, the green wallet boy. Underneath his new independent exterior, I see him. When he weakens in his rebellion, I’ll be there. When his layer of reason & judgement returns, I’ll be there.  When he cries, and he will, I’ll be there. I’d never trade my non-stress-free life for anything. It’s been my privilege.

 

 

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