Tuesday, 10 November 2015

Why I'm proud to be the mum of a teen...

I know that it might look as if I enjoy more than the odd moan about my teen from time to time (OK so it's all the time), but just recently I've realised that I really quite enjoy having a teenager...

The blog posts I've written about how frustrating I find his habits and behaviour are all still true, but it isn't simply a case of child-shaming for the sake of a few extra page views or a retweet on Twitter.  The reason that I do it is because I love being the mum of a normal teenager.  Really.

The teen boy is now 15 years old.  And, during those 15 years I have been on a steep learning curve as his parent.  To say we've been in some scrapes is an understatement.

At this time of the year I'm particularly reminded of how lucky I am to still be his mum.  The 9th November to be exact.  15 years ago.  It was my fourth wedding anniversary and the first one we spent as a family of three.  The teen boy was a newborn, just four weeks old.  Except we never got to celebrate it.

Instead it was the day the teen became a heart patient - something that changed him forever.  Medical professionals and terminology invaded our lives in a way I never thought possible.  I have written a bit about that before and a guest post over on Little Hearts Big Love about how we found out on that day.  Despite feeling like something of an expert on his congenital heart defect, I'm not going to go over it again.

It suddenly hit me the other week on his birthday, that back then and in the days that followed we had no idea whether he'd live for 15 hours, 15 days or 15 weeks.  It was such a traumatic time, living from day to day and hoping, no praying, that we'd get the chance to be a normal family.  Every time I think about it the feeling of fear still catches me in the throat a bit, it never really leaves.

And yet here he is, my greasy haired, messy bedroomed 15 year old son.  The one that makes jolly good blog fodder from time to time.  It feels like a massive milestone.  He is a credit to the nurses, doctors and surgeons who saved his life.  And to us.

I love him.  I don't say that enough any more.

He used the last of the milk the other morning.  And through gritted teeth (I really wanted a cup of coffee), instead of shouting, I smiled.

I might write a blog later about how much teenagers eat you out of house and home.  Or I might leave it.

Because I feel so grateful that I still can.

I love you, teen.  Even when you drink all the milk...

2 comments:

  1. This brought a tear to my eye. So important to remember.
    A girl in my son's class died suddenly at the age of 12. When he gets on my nerves, I remember her and her family and I think about how lucky I am to have him.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks Sarah. I'm so sorry to read about the girl in your son's class. What an unspeakably awful thing to happen. I do wonder whether people must read my blog and think I'm a bit cruel sometimes, but really it's quite the opposite - I feel so lucky to be able to celebrate his normal teen behaviour!

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