Once, I cohabited with an alien in my abode. This extraterrestrial didn’t possess oversized, luminescent eyes or multiple limbs. He didn’t shed a skin layer at night to reveal a see-through form, nor did he consume nutrients through an orifice in his nasal cavity.
However, he did exhibit mood swings at an alarming frequency. In mere moments, he could transition from uncontrollable laughter to yelling at peak volume, often punctuating his dramatic outbursts with door slams. His communication style was largely non-verbal, relying on eye rolls, shoulder shrugs, and an occasional grunt peppered with phrases like “whatever” and “yeah.” His eating habits resembled that of a starving creature, devouring food as if it might vanish before reaching his mouth.
If you find yourself in a similar situation, you likely recognize I’m describing a teenage boy—specifically, one who is too young to drive yet too old to be seen with his mother in public. “Just drop me off here, Mom. This is good,” he instructs, as if sharing a vehicle with a living parent would be a social catastrophe.
His hormones surged like a roller coaster, transforming him into an alien being, disconnected from his otherwise normal family. He could consume an entire pack of cookies, two pot pies, and a burrito, washing it down with a quart of milk, only to later lament that there was nothing left in the house to eat.
He left bowls of Jell-O to age under his bed, developing into unidentifiable specimens that no human should be forced to inhale. In his eyes, he was the nucleus of his own bizarre universe, perpetually misunderstood by those around him.
As the years rolled by, I began to accept his role in this alien existence. I observed him surpass my height, transitioning from footie pajamas to casual jeans. He moved from enjoying the Muppets to being captivated by street rappers. I went from bathing his imaginary companions to reminding him to shower before school. And honestly, it was all acceptable—until I found myself struggling to maintain my own identity during his metamorphosis into adulthood.
The sight of scattered clothing, an empty box of my favorite crackers, an indifferent shrug, or that notorious eye roll would send me into a frenzy. I would gaze into the mirror and see an alien reflection. What was happening to me? I would scream and rant, often making no coherent sense.
Logically, I understood it. He had reached the stage of life where my own memories began. I could recall the heartaches, the stress of a pimple on a big date, the late-night phone calls, and the racing heart when a crush walked by without a glance. Those feelings of indecision and insecurity were all too familiar. Yet, understanding was not enough to alleviate my frustrations.
A simple “Thank you, Mom,” a kiss on the cheek, or an “I love you” would have been a welcomed gesture. And you know what? It did happen occasionally. Just when I least expected it, he would plant a soft kiss on my cheek. But in the blink of an eye, he’d retreat back to his alien communication methods.
At times, I would find myself wishing for an alien abduction. “Take him away,” I would implore, “let him mature, and then return him to me—taller, wiser, with children of his own.”
Eventually, he did grow up. I walked into his vacant room and absorbed the echoes of the life he left behind—the beeping of video games, muffled whispers in the night, and heavy bass reverberating against the walls. Standing there, in the heart of what was once his universe, I realized how swiftly time had passed.
He had navigated through my memories and was forging ahead into new ones—some familiar, others entirely new. He was now experiencing the very things I had endured. And now, an alien resides in his household, consuming all of his snacks and slouching about, seemingly perplexed by the chaos of his life.
But you know what? That alien loves him just as much as I do. For more resources on parenting and home insemination, visit this excellent resource or explore these informative articles related to at-home insemination kits, like those found at Make A Mom.
In summary, the journey of parenting a teenage boy can often feel like an alien experience. Yet, amidst the chaos and confusion, there remains an enduring love that transcends the challenges of this transformative phase.