I’ve realised I’ll soon have a 17 year old child in the house. I can’t imagine that I ever thought I’d have a 17 year old child. I don’t know where the time went.
The last 3 years were hard, I thought the baby years were bad, or the terrible twos, which were really not bad at all, given the teenage years. Boy – those teenage years. Truly not what I expected.
Every day a wonder whether the sweetest cherub, or the angriest tasmanian devil is going to come through the front door.
My mother spent her life afraid of her eldest daughter – now I know why. You kind of have to gauge the mood – and either smile a hello, or run like hell and barricade yourself in your bedroom. Hell, my bed time has changed to 7pm now. Feed and run – that’s what I say.
Now despite them wanting to be treated like adults, they still act like petulant children, no older than 10. Not always, but often. Infant too often for an actual adult to take them seriously when they want to be serious. It’s a bit like crying wolf.
They want to be treated like adults, but they don’t act like adults. They want their opinions heard, but they don’t read and look at both sides and have a good solid argument.
They want to be treated like adults but act like children and want to be protected like a child in troubled times.
Man-child. How I want to protect you and love you and help you grow up. Let me.