As I stepped into the family room, I was struck by how much of the couch my teenage son now claimed.
His legs stretched toward the carpet, and that unruly mop of curly, unwashed hair fell across his forehead while he scowled at the phone in his hands.
He had been planted there for hours, too: since he finished his exams early, he was enjoying a rare break from the grind of his freshman year of high school.
Except for an orthodontist visit later that morning, his plan was to spend the day binge-watching Netflix and scrolling through his phone.
I, meanwhile, had my usual roster of freelance writing tasks, work deadlines, and an endless list of household chores ahead of me. My day was packed, every second spoken for.
“We’re leaving in an hour, okay, son? I want to be out the door by 10, no later,” I reminded him to shower and be ready by the time I finished in my home office.
“Okaaay, Mom,” he replied, barely looking up from his screen.
At exactly 9:55, I rushed out of my office and grabbed my keys.
“Let’s go, buddy. You ready?” I asked, expecting to hurry out the door to make his appointment.
“Okay, but I just need to shave,” he said, still glued to his phone, still lounging on the couch.
I let out the exasperated sigh that every mother of a teenager has mastered and glanced at my watch.
I was on a tight schedule, the precious minutes of my workday slipping away as I waited for him to unfold his long frame from the sofa and finally get moving.
Ten minutes passed, and he still wasn’t ready.
He’s almost 15, and this seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do, even though he had been loafing around for four hours.
I lost my patience and shouted at him to get in the car.
I didn’t have time for his spur-of-the-moment decisions.
I didn’t have time for his relaxed attitude toward leaving.
I didn’t have time to wait for him.
I don’t have time at all, anymore.
Today it hit me: living with a teenager is hard, but not always for the reasons you’d assume.
Living with a teen is tough because it’s a constant reminder of how simple life used to be.
How free of worries.
Teens have all the time in the world.
Moms do not.
Moms juggle. Moms finagle. We ebb and flow. We cram 27 hours into a 24-hour day, eight days a week.
Moms are exhausted, and some days we barely recognize our own lives.
When was the last time we slept until noon?
When was the last time we called our best friend to chat for two hours about nothing in particular?
Teens can spend their days off from school cuddling their dogs while still in pajamas.
Teens can meet friends at the movies and laugh with the carefree abandon that only youth brings.
Teens can eat their body weight in pizza, ice cream, and potato chips and skip the gym. Calories don’t count when you’re 15.
I miss that life, and I’m reliving those lazy teenage days through his eyes.
I miss the dog days of summer spent in front of The Price Is Right while braiding friendship bracelets for my friends.
I miss those afternoons lying on my bed, dissecting boys with my best friend on my pink princess phone. Those conversations went on for hours, covering everything and nothing.
I miss hanging out with friends at the mall or over milkshakes, talking about the latest trends and the prom dress with teal sequins and white puffy sleeves hanging in my closet.
Just as those days flew by for me, they’ll vanish for my son too. Sooner than he thinks, he’ll have adult responsibilities, and he’ll look back wistfully on his teenage years.
I also realized that my time with him under this roof is slipping away like sand through my fingers.
The days when he takes up the entire couch will end once he heads off to college.
The days when he’s close enough for me to ask about his day in person will slip through my grasp. And it will happen in the blink of an eye, I know.
As I looked at him—lanky, unshaven, with traces of the little boy he used to be—I relented and said, “Go shave. I have a few minutes.”
And I waited while he took his time.
Related:
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