You know the old saying that only two things in life are certain: death and taxes? Well, clearly whoever came up with this expression left out a third thing for those of us who are lucky enough and brave enough to procreate. Your little bundle of joy, no matter how much you don’t want them to, will one day have to suffer through puberty in all its annoying and most painful forms.
Now I know we have all been there, done that, and have an acne scar or two to prove it. And I don’t know about y’all, but somehow I have managed to repress those feelings of awkwardness, the mood swings, the body changes and the weepy insecurity of it all. (Well, I still have my moments.) All I remember for sure is these evil hormones descended upon us one day and, out of the blue, just like that, we were no longer little kids and we somehow had to learn to live with that. I just hate to admit it, but I never really thought much about what I’d do when my own children had to experience it all as well. That is, until puberty roared its ugly head a few months ago in our household.
So I think you know by now that I’m a girl and I have two girls. That means I am not the world’s greatest expert on boys and why they do what they do and seem to like to throw things. But I do know from my friends that one day the little guy, along with all his stuff, smells like Ivory soap and dusted cinnamon. But there comes a day when you wake up and discover you need a clothes pin firmly attached to your nose to get past the doorframe to his bed to wake him up.
That same day, when he climbs in your car with his sneakers, book bags, and sports gear, you’d better have an extra strength bottle of Febreeze and a back up if you are going to survive the ten minute ride home from school even with all the windows rolled down and your head hanging out the driver’s side window. I’m also told they like to spend a lot of time in the bathroom without actually bathing. What’s that all about? Beats me.
For me and my almost ten year-old, this puberty thing happened overnight but without the smelly body odor. See girls, they don’t really stink; they just cry….a lot. I’m still not sure which is worse. Girls’ moods are like the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or better yet, a multiple personality disorder on overdrive.
“How was your day, honey?” I ask, glancing at her through the rear view mirror after picking her from car pool.
“It was GREAT,” she tells me, all smiles. She even hums along with the radio.
Five minutes and several muffled sobs later, “I had the worst day ever,” she cries. “I got picked last for basketball in PE, left my English book at school, and then someone told me I needed glasses after I tripped over my shoelaces. This is the worst day EVER!”
It’s not just the mood swings. They also wake up one day and think they know everything.
“Hey, that looks like something fun we could do together,” I say, pointing to an ad for a beginning pottery class in the paper.
“Nope,” she tells me without even taking the Popsicle out of her mouth. “Those are your dreams, Mom. Not mine.”
Or how about this recent exchange?
“Look at this,” I tell her, pointing at a flyer taped to the window of G.J. Ford. “There’s a book signing for that author we both like. We could go, just us.”
“Mom, I already told you,” she says, tugging at the door handle to the car. “I’m going to live my own life and you can live yours.”
“But you’re only a month shy of ten,” I remind her before she can roll her eyes.
But it doesn’t stop there. Not only have I squashed her individuality by asking a few simple questions, apparently I have also become a huge embarrassment.
“MOM! Turn down the music! We’re almost at school!”
“You used to love ABBA. “You are my dancing queen,” remember?” I sing to her.
“That was years ago,” she reminds me, slumping down in her seat and shoving the hoodie on her sweater over her head. “You’re killing me!”
What happened? I mean, seriously . . . what happened to the little girl who wanted to hold my hand, sit in my lap, cuddle next to me in my bed whenever she got the chance? What happened to singing along with ABBA and dancing in the living room without worrying someone else might see?
I knew it would happen, though I tried to pretend it wouldn’t. I knew this day would come. And though I have aimed to forget, I do remember how hard it is -- this whole process of figuring out who you are supposed to be. I’m almost forty years into it and, honestly, I’m still trying to sort it all out.
Though if we really think about it, the price of puberty might end up being one of life’s greatest gifts to us. It allows us the opportunity to grow and embrace changes that we have no control over to begin with…to adapt to new challenges, new feelings and new opportunities.
“The apple doesn’t fall from the tree,” is another saying that I tend to use a lot. When I was my daughter’s age, I remember writing in my journal when I felt sad or angry or mad for no reason at all. I would go outside, stretch out on my trampoline and write it all down. She does the same thing.
She let me read her journal the other day. One of the last entries says simply this:
“Never ever look back.” And she’s right. As much as we’d like to turn back the clock and stop our children from reaching that day that they inevitably grow up into grownups, we can’t. Instead, we have no choice but to live in the present, plan and look forward to “down the road,” and, hopefully, we will make memories that last a lifetime.
So, even if your nostrils burn and your eyes water while you gather all the dirty socks from the floor and you can’t play your music as loud as you want to, the future still looks pretty bright. After all, we made it through, didn’t we?
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