Once upon a time, my home was occupied by an uninvited guest. This wasn’t the kind of intruder you’d expect, with bright, glowing eyes or multiple limbs. No skin-shedding antics or bizarre feeding habits here. Instead, this creature was adept at mood swings, capable of shifting from fits of laughter to explosive outbursts and door-slamming in a blink. His silent language included eye rolls, shoulder shrugs, and the occasional grunt punctuated with “whatever” and “yeah.” When it came to food, he inhaled it like it was about to disappear.
If you’re nodding your head, you’re likely familiar with this type of being: the teenage boy. More specifically, one who is just too cool to be seen in public with Mom, especially when it comes to car rides. “Just drop me off here, Mom. This is close enough,” he insists, as if being spotted with a “real” mother could ruin his reputation.
His hormones surged through him like a wild roller coaster, transforming him into a being that seemed alien to our perfectly normal family dynamic. He could demolish an entire package of cookies, two pot pies, and a burrito, washing it down with a quart of milk, only to complain moments later that there was nothing to eat in the house! He left behind bowls of Jell-O tucked under his bed, evolving into science experiments that no one should have to encounter.
As the years rolled by, I came to accept his status in this bizarre existence. I observed him growing taller, moving from footie pajamas to jeans, and transitioning from Muppet sing-alongs to rap battles. I went from bathing his imaginary friends to reminding him to shower before school. It was all part of the journey—except I found myself losing a bit of my own identity as he transformed into a young man.
Seeing his clothes strewn about, an empty bag of my favorite snacks, or witnessing that signature eye roll was enough to send me into a frenzy. I would look into the mirror and see an alien staring back at me, wondering what had happened. I would scream in frustration, ranting and raving about the chaos.
Rationally, I grasped the situation. He had reached an age where my own memories began—the heartbreak, the awkwardness, and the crushes that consumed my teenage years. I remembered the embarrassment of a pimple appearing before a big date and the sleepless nights spent on the phone. I had been there too, but that realization didn’t make it any easier.
A simple “Thank you, Mom,” or a kiss on the cheek could have gone a long way. And sometimes, it did happen. Out of the blue, he would plant a soft kiss on my cheek, only to revert back to his alien communication moments later.
There were days I wished for a spaceship to whisk him away until he matured and returned, taller and wiser, ready to embrace parenthood himself. And guess what? That day came. I walked into his now-empty room, resonating with echoes of his former life—the beeping of video games, whispers in the night, and the heavy bass reverberating through the walls.
Standing there in what used to be his world, I realized how swiftly time had flown. He had moved on to create new memories, some of which mirrored my own, while others were entirely his own to discover. Now, he faces the same trials of parenthood that I once navigated. An alien now occupies his space, munching on his food and acting like no one understands his world.
But you know what? That alien loves him just as fiercely as I did.
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Summary
Navigating the teenage years can feel like living with an alien. This humorous take on the changes that occur during this transformative phase captures the essence of parenthood. Embracing the chaos, the mood swings, and the unexpected moments of affection reveals the love that persists through the trials of growing up.