My daughter will be thirteen next month and I’m worried about her. She’s being assaulted by hormones. Lately she’s wanted to be on her own; she’ll come home after school, close herself in her bedroom and I won’t see her until it’s time for bed. I can understand wanting to get away from the adults who nag (yes, I’m one of them) but I’m starting to feel like a roommate, rather than a mom.
She’s emotional, moody; she cries if we don’t have ice cream in the house. She both screams at and wants to cuddle with the dogs.
Yesterday I took her to the orthodontist to discuss getting her braces. When they said that braces will give her “perfect” teeth, I thought the kid would burst into tears. Or flames. Probably both. The idea of perfection bothers her, but I don’t know what impossibly perfect thing she’s afraid of. She may not know it herself.
I don’t remember being like this when I was a teen. Of course that was a long time ago, I don’t think dirt had been invented yet.
Our conversations consist of “get up” and “no, you can’t eat in your room.” After a week of this I silently celebrate when she wants to have a discussion with me. The other day she showed me a music video and I counted myself lucky that she wanted to share something that interests her. I didn’t care for the video, too much hair thrashing and butt shaking. I showed her a video of a Nina Simone song. It was so high class it wore opera gloves. She shrugged. There’s no pleasing her at this age.