Lately I've been crying myself to sleep thinking about the sweet natured little boy who used to be my son. "He's such a good baby!" was the comment I heard most about my son when he was an infant. "He's so easy going" was another. Loving, affectionate, generous with hugs and outbursts of "I love you", my boy, though not perfect, was usually a joy to have around.
In the past year, someone stole my sweet baby boy and replaced him with a tall, sullen, and at times rude young man. Sometimes this lanky figure dressed all in black looks somewhat familiar, though it's hard to tell since he insists on wearing his hair over his eyes. Instead of a cheerful "Hi Mommy!" I'm lucky to get a grunt in passing. Excited monologues detailing his day at school have been replaced with monosyllabic answers, grudgingly shared only if I am persistent. There are those rare occasions when my son actually feels like chatting and we can share a laugh like old times. He inherited a great sense of humor and I love when it breaks through the pervasive teen angst. But a few hours later, the door is slammed before I can enter his room to say goodnight and my heart sinks again.
Remembering my own abhorrent behavior as a teen, I can't help but feel this phase in my life is some sort of cosmic retribution. Or as my mom often tells me, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Really comforting, mom.
Has anyone developed a cure for teenage attitude? I am ready to make my bulk purchase order. Pills, liquid, blunt force trauma - I'll take any form. Seriously. Anyone?
