By: Jamie Rivers | Aug. 15, 2023
His voice hasn’t fully transitioned yet, but I can sense the changes creeping in, like a distant freight train. It takes on a rough quality, especially when I rouse him from sleep with a simple, “Good morning, sweetheart.” These days, he drags himself out of bed, no longer the eager early riser he once was.
Welcome to 13.
I can hardly believe I have a teenage son – didn’t I just finish high school a heartbeat ago? Yet here we are. He’s my brand-new teenager, so reminiscent of the baby he was just a blink ago, yet so distinctly different. We’re navigating this unfamiliar territory together, a bit like the day he was born, filled with excitement and uncertainty, both foreign and familiar. The shift into this new phase is daunting, and I can’t shake the realization that there’s no guidebook to follow.
His bedroom door now shuts and locks behind him, leaving the rest of us on the outside unless we schedule an appointment. I find myself torn. Should I let it be? Is it acceptable for him to keep it shut, but not locked? I understand he deserves his space, but how he utilizes that privacy raises concerns. I wonder if he’s exploring his identity (ahem), or if he’s hiding potentially harmful activities like divulging personal information to strangers online or indulging in questionable YouTube content. The horror stories I’ve read about the parents of troubled teens haunt me. I hope I’m overreacting, but the tug-of-war between respecting his privacy and the urge to intrude is real.
This is 13. Letting go is tough.
He’s a little messy, and it doesn’t faze him. I find myself constantly nagging: When was the last time you washed your hair? Brushed your teeth? Go trim those toenails! As a baby, I would bury my nose in his hair, savoring his sweet scent. Now, I catch a whiff and recoil, yet I can’t just scoop him up and force him into the bath like before. Instead, I present him with deodorant and new toothpaste as if they’re treasures, and he reacts like any kid would when gifted with hygiene products.
His desk and every flat surface in his room are strewn with stale chip crumbs and dirty dishes, while his floor resembles a laundry mountain that never made it to the hamper. I can hardly comprehend how he can stand the mess, but it’s time to give him more autonomy over his space. When I ask how long he’s been wearing that pair of underwear, he shrugs and casually replies, “Like four days?” I can hear a hint of pride in his voice, as if he’s accomplished something remarkable.
This is 13, and it definitely has a scent.
He still enjoys cartoons, but now they’re the big-kid variety, far from what you’d find on Nick Jr. He plays video games that come with a hefty price tag, and I can no longer choose his outfits. His version of “dressing up” consists of non-ripped pants paired with his favorite poop emoji t-shirt. His shoes are almost as large as mine, and when he’s shirtless, I can see the beginnings of muscle replacing his once spindly limbs.
His pants suddenly appear too short, despite my recent purchase. He inhales food like it’s oxygen (“Mom, can you grab some Lucky Charms, ramen noodles, and chili lime Takis?”), which means another grocery trip for me, all while hunting for new pants. Again.
This is 13. It’s costly.
Thirteen feels like trying to hold onto a slippery fish under water, knowing you must eventually let it go. It’s the struggle of figuring out how much freedom to grant him. I feel pride in the independent person he’s becoming, but there’s also the bittersweet ache of realizing he’s forging his own path.
For now, he’s still affectionate, and I cherish every hug and the diminishing snuggles, painfully aware that these moments may be fleeting. I can still remember holding him as a baby, dozing on my chest, or snuggling in my lap, like a memory of a little boy who once was. I’ll continue to tousle his hair and stroke his cheek forever, no matter how grown he becomes. I must. To me, he’ll always be my baby, even though he’s not.
“You’re the best mom,” he says, when he’s not declaring me the worst. His voice is slightly deeper than it was last week. The train is coming, and all I can do now is step back and watch it pass.
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Summary
Parenting a 13-year-old is a wild ride, filled with challenges as they transition into their teenage years. From newfound independence and messy habits to the bittersweet moments of affection, it’s a time of both pride and anxiety. Navigating this journey without a manual can be daunting, but it’s essential to embrace each moment, however fleeting.