The Stranger in My House

Living with a teenager is an experience. I've gotten used to the eye-rolls (which are actually a genetic trait among the women in my family), the door slams, the tears over seemingly nothing and the gigantic mood swings from day to day. All of these normal symptoms seem to be exacerbated in my child because of her Gemini-ness. You know, kind of sweet and tolerable one minute, hating the world purely because it exists the next. One second she loves one of the dogs and the next hates them both because they breathe. And chew her lip gloss. That she leaves out on the floor.

Teenagers are supposed to be creatures that are unrecognizable from their previous incarnations as children. But I've heard very little about the nice parts. That's probably because the nice parts are related to the saddest parts and nobody wants to watch me turn into a dribbling pool of idiotic tears. The nice part has happened over the summer, practically over night. Here is how the nice part goes:

D: Can I go do such-and-such tomorrow?
Me: Yes, after you clean your bathroom.
D: Okay, that's fair.

What? Agreeing to a chore? This has been unheard of in my house for the last 16 years! Okay, maybe 11 years. It's not like I asked her to do the dishes before she could walk. But still.

She no longer cares about the amount of time that I spend with KY. She actually asks to spend time with us. She cleans her room fairly often. She's more realistic about her abilities. As in, she now admits she's not the greatest driver in the world like she originally tried to convince me. She just carries herself differently.

There are still the not-so-nice parts. The hormones are strong in this one; there are days I can't even look at her without her freaking out. "Why are you looking at me like that??" I'm now finding panties in the laundry that look like mine, but aren't. The Disney princesses and cute teddy bears have been replaced with lace and much less material.

This is probably the most bittersweet time in my life thus far. I'm watching my little girl grow up before my very eyes. She's beginning to leave her little-girl self behind as she tries on her adult skin. I'm proud of her and amazed by her and at the same time I want to scream, "NO!! Not yet! I'm not ready!" I want to turn back the clock to those days we'd sit in the rocking chair for hours, when I'd let her nap there with me because I knew the day would come when I didn't want to let go, when she wouldn't fit in my lap so perfectly, when she didn't look to me for all of her needs but to her friends and soon, to a boy. We're now farther from those days and closer to the days when she'll know herself how I felt.

She's really excited to start school this year as she feels that this is going to be Her Year. She has youth choir, Skyliner jazz choir, her first play, and she is ready to get started. Me? Not so much. This will be the second-to-last first-day-of-school. Can we postpone it until January? At least October? Because the sooner it starts, the sooner it ends and I'm not ready for it to end. I'm not ready for the quiet. I'm not ready to miss her grumpy face in the mornings. I'm not ready to miss the excited, talking-too-fast or the laughing over nothing. I'm not ready to pack up her room and let the world take her in. As much as I like and appreciate the new person she is becoming, I'm not ready to meet her adult self.

Not yet. Just not yet.

16 Things I Love

My baby girl turned 16 yesterday. It's a milestone of which I am acutely, painfully aware. I find myself counting down more often. How many more holidays will she be at home, how many more first days of the school year, how many more birthday parties, how many more months left do I have with her before she's all grown up and living a life that I'm not a daily part of? It feels like it's going to happen tomorrow. Like if I blink, it's going to be over.

Even if she's not always sleeping in the room next to me, she'll always be my baby girl and I could pontificate for hours what this means to me and what it means to be a mom. What it means to be her mom. Instead, in honor of the 16 candles I put on her cake last night, here are 16 things that I love about her.

1. She chose to be Holly Golightly for Halloween one year.
2. She surprises me with her talents. Still.
3. I love how once in a while I look at her and catch my breath, that I can't believe this beautiful creature has anything to do with me.
4. Her sense of humor and sass.
5. I love how she can be so frustrating on a daily basis and then we go on vacation and I rediscover how fun she truly is.
6. Her heart is so big.
7. She's much stronger and braver than I ever give her credit for.
8. She still asks to be tucked in at night.
9. She cried when she wasn't tall enough for a roller coaster.
10. When she was a baby and uncomfortable, her favorite place to be was in my arms.
11. Her silliness.
12. Her first word after "momma" was "shoe".
13. She has always been her own person.
14. I love that she's taught me love and acceptance.
15. We watch scary movies together.
16. I love that I get to be witness to her self-discovery.

To my Bugabooga, I will love you always in ways that you can't even imagine. Thank you for being the beautiful person that I am so proud of.
Happy Birthday.