Just Accepting It

This kind of goes for everything right now. Covid. Getting Old. Parenting a Teenager. Chaos, Armageddon, TikTok insomnia.

It’s all real.

“Old” is relative, right? But like it’s not. I was living my life … well, Covid-style. So gaining weight and not exercising. Eating snacks and watching Netflix to stay sane … except I was doing this all with the family, so sanity was nowhere to be found, actually. Anyway, I’m just existing in my 40’s and my body will randomly send a signal. Something will go wrong/stop working/morph/change shape, whatever. I’ll think, “Hmm. … that seems wrong. Better get it checked out.”


After the fourth time getting whatever the body part on strike was, I was told it was nothing. Nothing was medically wrong/different/malfunctioning. So here I was thinking I’m being a responsible grown up and getting shit checked by an actual doctor, not just going with the preliminary Google Clinic and what am I told? “Naah, bruh. You good.”

So now I’m just accepting shit is going to fall apart and I am no longer getting anything checked. Now when my side mirrors fall off, “Ok. This is my reality now.” When my muffler smokes, “Hmm, ok. This is new and it’s ok.” When my paint peels, “This is 40.”

(disclaimer: I am not an old Dodge, but because people I have to regularly make eye contact with read this, I’m using a car metaphor for my body slowly limping and sputtering into old age)

My will to change anything about myself has vanished in a puff of hormones. Namely, my teenagers hormones. See, the daily-sometimes hourly – emotional cage match drains me of all of my ambition. If I can get to the evening with half an ounce of patience, a teaspoon of self worth, and a pinch of sanity, I have made it, y’all. That checkered flag is flying and I am taking a victory lap…. to the couch… with my phone.

My child is a good kid. He’s just doing all the things teenagers are built to do – make their mothers simultaneously act like a Grimm Fairy Tale Villain and a Disney Heroine in need of an eternity of sleep.

Rules?! Who needs ’em? How dare us parents declare boundaries and expectations from our child?! We OBVIOUSLY have no IDEA what it’s like to be a teenager during a pandemic! (as we are told many many times) He isn’t wrong. But you know what, (inappropriate and vulgar expletive) you haven’t parented a teen during a pandemic.


My eyes just turn red now. I’m certain I have a wart that doubles as a pop-a-mole on my nose during one of our more heated “why do rules even apply to me” debates, and my skin becomes a beautiful shade of Shrek Green.

Ch Ch chu Changes.

I expected his changes, but I didn’t realize parents morph right along with the teenager. Yes, I just need a cocoon and I’ll be set. Make it a King size with an entertainment system, warm fuzzy blanket, and a Keurig and i’m all set.

And to sum up my life, it’s 10:34pm as I write this, and my son just came in to tell me, “Goodnight Mom, I love you.” and blow me a kiss. ❤

Rollercoasters are just training drills for parenthood.

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