Toughing out the tricky tween years
A mother finds a way through uncharted territory when her daughter changes from a child to a teen
“Do you think you’re a good mother?” he asked. It was a year after my husband had suddenly died, and my daughter was entering preschool. I had met with the psychologist at the school, just to let him in on what our family was going through, and he asked me this question.
I replied, “Yes, I think I’m a great mom.”
He looked surprised, “Usually this is the part where moms express all of their guilt and regrets.” But I really did think I was a great mom to my little girl.
In many ways, the simplicity of a child’s world lends itself well to a grieving mother. We visited the library weekly and spent hours snuggled together in bed with stacks of picture books, flipping through pages of rich paintings and themes of hope. On long afternoons we blew bubbles, built forts and made play dough. There was the company of imaginary friends, dolls and fairies that lived in tiny doors I attached just above the baseboards of our home. There was a lot of tickling and a lot of laughter.
Now, seven years later, we watch videos together of those vignettes. “I’m not cute anymore,” she says sadly. As a highly sensitive, hyper-aware child, she has been conflicted about the end of her early childhood.
I’m also conflicted about this whole growing-up thing. I miss her little voice and adoring gaze. I wonder too — as I watch the videos and hear my sing- song voice saying funny things — if I smile as much these days.
I think about that conversation with the preschool psychologist and how I’d answer today. I make more mistakes, partly because I’ve had more years to make them in, and partly because it’s much easier to lose your patience with a tween who is rolling her eyes at you than a 5-year-old who is dancing around in fairy wings. “Do you think you’re a good mom?” he’d asked. I can’t answer as confidently now.
Her schedule now takes her to school, student government meetings, Girl Scouts, ballet rehearsals and piano lessons. She brings me tests and permission slips to sign. She complains that everyone else has a phone. Now, suddenly, there are boys who like her. We’re in uncharted territory.
The transition from mother of a little girl to mom of a tween feels like the biggest transition we’ve undergone. The setting, the characters and the props all seem to be changing. What if I was just better at mothering a little girl? What does it even look like to be a good mom to a tween?
What will be the new ways that I love her now? I’m not sure, but I think I caught a glimpse when she used her own money to buy me feather earrings from Claire’s for my 42nd birthday and I wore them up to the school to pick her up. She came out saying, “You wore them!” I think I see it when we talk about the social dynamics at school over dinner, and I say, “I remember what that was like,” and she answers hopefully, “You do? Really?”
Today, it feels a little awkward to tickle my lanky 10-year-old. But sometimes I still do. I don’t necessarily talk or read in a singsong voice anymore, but there’s always music in our house, and we do still read books together. We smile at each other when Anne talks about her disdain for Gilbert. And I’ll tell you a secret: Sometimes at home, she still jumps up, right into my arms. Though I have no idea how much longer I will be able to do this, I can still balance her there, on my right hip.