artificial insemination syringe
“Ugh, it’s so hot! Where is he?!” my 17-year-old son exclaimed as we left the college bookstore, searching for my husband who had clearly wandered off.
“Did you not see him?” I asked gently, trying to tread lightly on the emotional edge that had stirred him awake that morning.
“No, I didn’t!” he shot back, “This heat is unbearable!”
“Why don’t you step outside and cool off, honey?” I suggested, mustering my most soothing motherly tone. Two days into our campus visit, his nerves were already frayed.
“I don’t want to,” he answered sharply. Of course, I thought. Why would he want to make things easier on himself? My younger son, Leo, had been a handful since he was two, when he nearly got kicked out of preschool for butting heads with classmates and throwing punches at teachers. Not much had changed.
My maternal instincts surged, compelling me to teach him something, to help him avoid his worst impulses. So, I continued, “I just want you to learn to rise above the little annoyances and focus on the good. We’re at your favorite school. We just toured around. We picked up some great merchandise.” And, of course, I couldn’t resist adding, “Your dad and I are making sacrifices for you to attend here, so a little positivity would be nice.”
Silence. That last comment hit too close to home for his self-absorbed teenage mindset. After all, he was the one who could explode at any moment. The daycare director once told me he could be “a leader in the community if he could just channel that energy positively.”
“When you’re hot in a store, you always say, ‘OMG, I need to get out of here, I’m so hot!’” he countered. “How is that any different from my complaining?!”
I fell into the trap. “Okay, so I had a hot flash in the bookstore, but you didn’t hear me complaining, did you?” I replied defensively. Maybe we were cut from the same cloth.
My husband, trying to play the peacemaker, chimed in, “Well, your mother’s situation is a bit different…”
“How?!” Leo retorted sarcastically. “Really, how?!” Then he went on about how I let trivial things bother me and that he was no different. He was right. We were similar. Maybe that’s why I reacted so strongly during arguments.
I was a pessimistic person and let things bother me more than I should have when I was younger. But as I grew older, I genuinely tried to become more positive. Yet, I knew he hadn’t. I felt responsible for that. After all, I had crafted his life to be perfect. As the second child, his needs were prioritized, especially mine. He didn’t want to eat what his older brother ate? I made him a special meal. He didn’t want warm water like his brother? I gave him ice-cold water. He didn’t want to learn to wash his clothes? I did it for him. He didn’t want to clean up his bathroom? I took care of that too.
I made both my boys the center of my universe because I had never been the center of my parents’ world. Alcoholism and mental illness had robbed me of that position. But I was determined to make them my shining stars. And I did, but I worried I might have gone overboard with Leo. I catered to his picky eating habits, making his favorite chicken nuggets and fries. No oven-baked meals for him. I prepared “fresh” dinners most nights because he despised leftovers. I even advocated for him to attend an out-of-state school, despite our agreement to keep our children in-state for financial reasons.
“Look, Leo, I’m just trying to say that I wish you had some coping skills to not let the little things get to you,” I said as we left the store, my face flushed from yet another hot flash. I was grateful for the refreshing breeze and greenery.
“Oh, okay,” he replied, always giving as little information as possible. “Sometimes you just annoy me.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes you annoy me too,” I chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood. “We’re family, and that’s just how it goes. We can annoy each other, but we still love each other.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, somewhat distracted.
As we headed to the field house for our last stop, I wiped the sweat from my brow and pondered why I was so on edge. Then it hit me. Unlike his older brother, Leo didn’t seem to enjoy spending time with his father and me. He seemed to embrace his independence. He chose a college that was an 11-hour drive away. Was that by design? What if this distance meant he stayed there forever? What if he didn’t want to come back? My greatest fears were surfacing as I prepared to let him go.
But that’s life, right? You do your best for your children and then let them fly. That doesn’t mean it’s easy or what you signed up for. Yet, you persist and hope that one day, he’ll find his way back to you.
For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out this related post on Home Insemination. If you’re interested in boosting fertility, consider visiting Make a Mom, an authority on this topic. For further guidance on pregnancy week-by-week, March of Dimes is an excellent resource.
Summary:
Letting go of your child as they seek independence can be a challenging experience for parents. In this narrative, a mother reflects on her teenage son’s eagerness to break away and how her overprotective tendencies may have contributed to his struggles with coping. As she navigates their differences and her own worries, she realizes that love persists even amid annoyance and tension. Ultimately, she comes to terms with the fact that allowing her child to grow up is part of the parenting journey.