The one where your kid finally leaves the house.
Parenting sucks a lot of the time. They (you know, “they”) don’t tell you that.
I feel like I have totally fucked up one of the most important things I was charged to do – raising my son.
Long-ass story and not enough blog.
Before I fell pregnant at sixteen I had no plans whatsoever to have children of my own. I wasn’t the one who baby sat for pocket money, or helped out the younger classes at Sunday school and I have a terrible temper. So much so that I was afraid I might literally hurt a child in a fit of blind rage.
And then I had my baby boy
The first few months with my baby were rough. I had the full support of my friends and family and my church, but I spent so much time waiting for that beautiful, tear jerking, soft-focus, golden, glowy moment that you see on TV and in movies – the one when the new mom and the tiny, half asleep, mewling baby magically join their souls together forever and ever and are bonded for life.
That didn’t happen for me. I have come to learn that it NOT happening is normal and common. I love him, fiercely. And I will go mama bear on your ass if you fuck with my boy. But for years I was afraid I hadn’t “bonded” with him enough or correctly.
As a young mom I also had ass-vice and opinions from all and sundry on how I SHOULD have been doing it. I had teachers looking over my shoulder for my boy’s parents when I walked into a classroom on parents’ evening or arrived to register him for a class.
And having a special needs son with severe ADHD Combined Type didn’t make my critics go any easier on me…
I’ll bet those critics are now nodding their heads sagely and smirking at how right they were.
Mother fuckers. Thanks for nothing.
My knucklehead and I have hit a really rough patch and he’s using it to assert his independence whilst at the same time trying to manipulate me the way only he has ever known how to do.
And I’m trying hard not to shake him and scream at him that he’s not ready for fucks’ sake!
He won’t listen to sense or reason.
He’s moving out.
He’s moving out because I finally told him to fit in or fuck off and meant it, and he’s moving out because its something he’s wanted to do for a long time.
I know where he’s going but I am terrified of not knowing where he is.
I am terrified of not seeing him every day but I long for the peace this will bring me.
I am terrified of him burning his fingers but I want him to learn a lesson or three.
I am terrified he’ll never come back.
I want my baby boy back. I want stories snuggled on the couch. I want “I love you mommy” with that little sweet smile.
And I want him to be a grown up and do well for himself and by himself.