My daughter is ruining being a teenager.

Jul 31 2012

My daughter needs me.

I know it’s true.

Even (and especially) now that she’s a teenager.

It’s more obvious all the time that my oldest baby needs occasional babying despite my natural inclination to only baby the babies.

Sometimes I succeed at giving her what she needs.

And sometimes I fail.

But let’s talk about me, shall we?

Let’s talk for just one minute about what I need.

I need my daughter.

I need her.

I do.

Not to baby me, of course. Although if she occasionally wanted to bring me my slippers, a book, a cup of coffee, and silence, I wouldn’t say no.

No, I need my baby to make me feel better about myself.

In particular, I need my baby to help me continue to justify my own, long-ago teenage life. To help me understand that the ways I was a complete, fundamental awkward mess were normal. Routine. Absolutely the same as everyone else.

And, while I don’t use this space often to complain about my family, I need to get this off my chest.

Abby totally bites at making teenagers look pathetic.

She does.

She just does.

Like today, for example, when she played with make-up and fashion and didn’t have the decency to look awkward or insecure.


Do you see?

She is wearing a schmear of bright blue eye-shadow, y’all. And – gosh, I’m so embarrassed to say this – it looks good.

My daughter can’t even screw up blue eye-shadow. And – I’m pretty sure I’m right here – if you can’t screw up blue eye-shadow, you’re doing teenager wrong.

The End.



Dear Miss Abby,

I hope you don’t think your mama’s too hard on you. I know – I do – that you’re only in your second year of being a teenager. You have time – years and years of time left – to consider the error of your ways and make corrections.

I want you to know, even though I’m old, I understand. Despite glimmers of early teenage promise, I didn’t get into the full swing of being a holy terror and making my parents question my sanity, my judgement, and my taste in eye-shadow until I was sixteen.

Baby girl, it’s OK to be a late bloomer like your mama. Do not be discouraged. I love you love you. To infinity. Even though you’re messing everything up.