Teen Mom

Well, it happened. My energetic, bubbly and sweet little girl woke up a reluctant, mumbling teenage loaf. Mom is no longer cool. Everything is “literally the worst.” And don’t even get me started on how boys became “so cute” – overnight.

I mean I knew it was coming. Age 12 foreshadowed a few meltdowns and tantrums I’d be facing soon enough, but I scoffed it off because I’m Mom of the Year so my child was going to be exempt from these godforsaken teenage behaviors, right?

Oh how wrong I was. I say, “You should wear this,” so she wears that. I present her with a simple task and it’s oh-my-gosh the end of the whole entire world. I seldom even see my child but I know she still lives at home – somewhere behind that closed bedroom door – because I find remnants of her existence in the shape of food wrappers and sticky surfaces.

Gone are the days of sunshine posters and polka dot sheets. Now, her room is decorated with webs of string lights, artificial plants and mounds of clothes I’m pretty sure I’ve asked her to put away, over and over again. She’s got all the things (all of which I’ve paid for) but Heaven forbid I touch any of it.

A once pip-squeaky “mommy” has turned into a long, drawn-out “mommm-uh” accompanied by eye rolling and an occasional grimace. Everything is “ew,” “ugh” or prompts some lingering breathe that usually precedes some body jerk. We’ve gone from swing sets to mood swings. There was a time I couldn’t peel her off of me. Now, I can’t peel her away from Roblox, TikTok and the hours she spends binging on Netflix series.

She’s thirteen. My puffy, pony-tailed baby is dabbling in mascara! She’s not allowed to use the stove but, in just two short years, she’ll be able to operate a 4,000 pound vehicle. The little girl with big brown eyes – the one who used to give her mommy kisses – will soon be kissing me goodbye (so long as no one sees) to go off with friends. Worse, she’ll soon be hand in hand with some boy and no longer holding mine.

I’ve gone from new mom to teen mom in the blink of an eye. I’ve had thirteen years to prepare for this, yet couldn’t be less ready to deal with her first pimple much less her first kiss. So, to all my fellow teen mommas, I feel you (and will pray for you). And to my own mother, who dealt with all of the above (plus some), I owe you!

Written by Kelli Fuqua Hart | Published in the Dec19/Jan20 issue of Family Times Magazine