I’m at a funny place in my parenting life. My daughter became an official teenager in May and throughout the past few months my mommy job has been slowly, subtly changing.
No longer does she need my help for things like making her breakfast or picking out her clothes; in fact, she’s started fashioning her own clothing as part of her new Steampunk style.
If you don’t know what Steampunk is, think old west meets newfangled gadgets. If that doesn’t immediately draw up an image for you, Google it, like I did.
My daughter’s been taking apart clocks and music boxes, searching for parts to complete the embellishments on her new attire.
The Steampunk style is actually pretty cool and it suits her, which is great because I know I dabbled in many styles as a teenager that didn’t really fit. Like the backcombed-to-the-extreme-bang-fan I used to sport on top of my head. Or the MC Hammer pants. Or the pinned tight at the ankle jeans. I could go on.
In addition to my teenager’s new style is a new sense of responsibility that she’s developed.
She’s thinking ahead and going to bed early if she has to get up early the next day (without me having to tell her). She’s offering to pay for her own treats and even foots the bill for her little brother from time to time. She’s working out her own solutions to problems without coming to me for help, and the solutions are usually pretty darn good.
And just this past weekend my little girl decided she was ready to get baptised, which filled me with immense joy and pride. It was the most grown up decision I can think of that she’s made to date.
The truth is, it feels like my little girl is getting so big she doesn’t need me anymore.
Now I know that’s not actually the case – I’m 38 and still need my mommy. It’s just the way she needs me that’s changing, and so far I’m adapting awkwardly.
I wish there was a group like the one I was in when my teenager was just a wee toddler.
The weekly group had us moms of small kids meet up and share our stresses and screw ups so we could lean on each other, hear we weren’t alone and learn from our mistakes.
Raising toddlers was tricky, but raising teenagers is fraught with its own landmines and a little discussion about them couldn’t hurt.
This September my new teenager starts high school. Maybe I’ll put my own group together. We can meet over margaritas.
