My Favorite Job: Motherhood

Having a 17 year old daughter is...interesting. As a young girl she loved to wear pink dresses and hats (it helped that she didn't have much say), but as she grew she went into a black clothes and dark phase where I felt as if lost her, involved in her own life and only giving me short answers. Conversations were painful:

Me: "What did you do today?"

Her: "Nothing."

Me: "Do you have homework?"

Her: "Some."

Me: "How was that science test."

Her: "Fine."

All the while she was rolling her eyes at me. 

Her: "Can I go to my room now?"

If she wasn't in her room, she withdrew in her own head with her iPod as her best friend. This last year I saw a slight change. With college choices, Senior pictures and increased high school activities, she needed to talk more to me. In my own "I am Mother of the Year" world I would love to hope that she enjoyed it. But that might just be wishful thinking on my part. 

No matter what phase she was in, though, I never gave up on her. Oh, I threw my hands up in the air and I admit that I yelled a few (hundred?) times out of frustration over her bad attitude, her dress choice of all black clothes, her fear of driving a car, her dislike for cleaning her room, dislike for helping around the house, and the list could forever go on, but I never stopped loving her. 

I used to drop her off at school, kiss her and tell her that she was my favorite and not to tell her brother and then do the same with my son as I dropped him off. That was until they caught on to me during one of their several million sibling arguments that they had. 

"Well, mom says I am her favorite every morning!" 

"Wait, she says the same to me!" 

"Mom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

It was all done in fun and they knew it. We still laugh about it (or maybe I am the only one that does!). 

Last night was Micaela's Senior Prom. She didn't want to go, but I put my foot down and said that she was going. It was a rite of passage. And so we did the dress shopping, the nail thing, the flower thing, the hair thing and finally the picture thing. It is so hard to see her looking so grown up, but I am so proud of her. And...I am proud that I got through it! 

So for all of you with toddlers wondering when it will ever get better - cherish those days because as they grow, the problems only grow with them. I wouldn't trade being a mom for anything. It is, and will forever be, my favorite job. 

Believe,

Kristy