He used to adore me. For many years, he was my constant companion, shadowing my every move. I carried him, cradled him, and took him along for endless adventures. He clung to me like a lost sock from the laundry, and there were moments when I had to peel him away.
In those days, we shared a deep bond. Each birthday, he would reflect on the year gone by, understanding that those moments were precious and irretrievable. He would ask me to promise that he wouldn’t leave for college and that he could live with his future wife in the basement. I would smile and kiss his sweet earnest face, assuring him that change was inevitable. I’d explain that one day he’d want to spend time with friends and might even prefer living just around the corner rather than in the basement.
He wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll never leave you!” he assured me, declaring me his favorite person in the entire universe. My heart swelled with joy; my little boy loved me so much.
But now, that sentiment seems lost. He’s 13 and has seemingly abandoned me, enveloped in a whirlwind of teenage angst and frenetic energy that I can hardly recognize.
“Good morning, sweetheart!” I cheerfully announce as I gently shake him awake. “Did you sleep okay? Can I whip up some pancakes?”
He remains an immovable lump under the covers. “You’re up, right?” I nudge him again, trying to keep my spirits high.
“Okay! Jeez! I’m up!” he grumbles, his teenage irritation evident.
I take a step back, trying to remain unfazed. “Great! See you downstairs,” I say, giving him a gentle pat on the back—the same one I used to diaper.
As I prepare his lunch alongside that of his younger brother, he shuffles into the kitchen. “Hey there!” I chirp, channeling my inner schoolgirl with a crush. “Almost ready to go?”
He ignores me, snatching a granola bar from the pantry and walking out without a word. I let out a sigh, repeating my question to his broadening back. “Hey, did you pack your backpack? I saw some books in the living room.”
I catch a sound that resembles a caveman’s grunt and assume he’s got it handled.
In the car ride to school, he sinks his head into his phone, his greasy hair obscuring his face from view. I yearn to tuck those strands behind his ear, but I know I have limited time to connect and can’t risk the fallout.
“So, anything exciting happening at school today?” I ask.
“Not really.”
“How did that science test go?”
He shrugs, and I probe further, “Was that a good shrug or a bad shrug?”
Another shrug follows. “I think I did fine.”
Communication has shifted dramatically over the past year. I now search for any morsel of information he’s willing to share. “How’s middle school treating you? Do you have a crush on anyone?”
He shakes his head without glancing my way. “Nah.”
Oh! An actual response! Riding high on this moment, I take a leap. “Would you like to hang out with me after school? Your brothers have playdates, and we could grab ice cream or something?” My excitement is palpable.
“I’ll text you. I might go with friends.”
“Of course! No problem. Have a great day at school!” My heart sinks, but I remind myself to be happy for him.
As he exits the car, I watch him like a puppy longing for its owner. Once, he was a baby nestled in my arms; then he was a child who wanted nothing more than to be by my side. But now, he’s grown, and life has become more complex with new friendships claiming parts of his heart.
“Oh man,” he says, just as he’s about to close the door. “I forgot my English book.”
My eyes widen. I had reminded him about his books! Taking a breath, I keep my tone light. “Do you want me to drop it off for you?” I ask, feeling both annoyed and grateful for this chance to help him.
“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Mom.” He flashes a bright smile that lights up my day.
Our relationship has evolved. I need to work harder to find these small moments of connection, to stand by him even when he seems indifferent, and to ensure he knows that beneath his teenage scowl is still the little boy who loves me.
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In summary, though my teenage son might seem distant, I know that our bond remains, and I need to cherish the moments we have together, however fleeting they may be.