Terminal teen

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.




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