Welcome to the Teenage Years

I am now the mother of a teenager.

Do you ever get that “how did I get there” feeling? You know, the one when you travel the same route every day, and even though technically you are paying attention to the road and cars around you, your mind zones out and you find yourself miles closer to home thinking “How did I get here”?

That’s how I feel about suddenly becoming the mother of a teenager.

I use the term “suddenly” but this is actually an event that was thirteen plus years in the making. All the morning sickness, labor pains, sleepless nights rocking an infant, car seats, skinned knees, first days of school, recorder concerts, play dates, sleepovers and overdue library books finally add up to that milestone that heralds a whole new era of uncharted territory: the teenage years.

Of course, I vaguely remember my own teenage years, with shifting friendships, awkward moments, acne, insecurity and changes that made me feel as if my body was not my own. It was a terrible, wonderful, painful part of my life and when I emerged safely on the other side, I thought to myself, “Whew…Thank goodness I don’t have to go through that again.”

Except I do. But this time I get to live every uncomfortable, frightening, messy and crazy moment vicariously through my child. It’s amazing how the mind can block out whole chunks of memories. My own teenage years are buried in my mind somewhere beneath the countless seasons of “Survivor” and the plots from every trashy book I’ve ever read. I can’t remember how difficult I might have been towards my own parents (though I’m sure they’ll be happy to remind me once they read this).

I’m sure I was disrespectful and arrogant and a know-it-all when I was a teen. My days were spent alternately fighting with my parents and my siblings. Without cell phones, Facebook or the internet, the social dynamics at that time were certainly less complex, but turbulent just the same. Through junior and senior high school my core group of friends evolved and settled, but still contained dramatic incidents warranting teary phone calls and frantic scribbling in my journal. My body went through changes that I found both fascinating and repulsive. If I only knew then what I know now about the even more horrific changes thirty years in my future, I would have appreciated that teenage body more than I did.

But what good is all this knowledge and experience when my own child is sure to eschew my wisdom and turn to his friends, the media and pop culture for guidance? Eventually I’ll be relegated to the role of the ignorant parent who can’t possibly know what her teenager is going through.

I’m steeling myself for that day when my own newly-minted teenager decides that he’s just too embarrassed to be seen with me. When instead of greeting me with a smile and a hug he brushes past me with a grimace and a grunt. He’ll spend endless hours holed up in his room, iPod blaring in his headphones instead of recounting every detail of some ridiculous program he saw on Cartoon Network.

We’re not there yet, but I can see him inching his way ever closer. Until then I’m going to focus on the benefits of having a teenager in the house. Someone who (occasionally) helps shovel snow in the winter and mows the lawn in the summer. Someone who can watch his younger brother when I’m not home. Someone that still comes out to the car and offers to bring in my grocery bags. Someone who shares my love of British comedy and zombie movies and doesn’t mind sitting next to me in the theater instead of four rows behind me.

So if you see me around town and I look a little more frazzled than usual, just remember; I’m the mother of a teenager now.