Sarah Nigbor

As many of you know, I have four teenage children: Three amazing stepsons (ages 19, 16 and 15) and my beloved daughter, age 13. Our house is a swirling den of hormones, strong emotions, cracking voices and bellies that are never full. Gallons of milk disappear in half a day. Family size boxes of cereal seem to go empty in even less time. The boys can eat enough hamburgers and steak to make the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association proud. I’ve become a sneak, hiding things I don’t want eaten or drank in three seconds flat away from their prying eyes. You know, no one ever looks on top of the refrigerator or under the lettuce…shhhh…

There’s been a lot more to get used to than an ever-increasing grocery bill. It doesn’t seem that long ago that my little girl was glued to me. She wanted to do everything with me and never left my side. She begged me to let her sleep in my bed. On the days she knew she had to go to her dad’s, our rides to school were filled with, “Mommy, I will miss you. Will you call me?” and “Mommy, don’t forget to text me tonight.”

Now I’m lucky if she even looks at me or talks to me when it doesn’t involve wanting to go shopping. Seemingly overnight she went from being my sidekick and biggest fan to my biggest critic and drain on my wallet. She has more skincare products and makeup than Tammy Faye Bakker. The sweet, bubbly child who loved sloths, SpongeBob, stuffed animals and Barbies suddenly morphed into a wisecracking, sarcastic, eyerolling and eyeliner wearing teen who is begging for an eyebrow piercing (um, no) and towers over my 5-5 height. (I am now the shortest person in my house).

The past year has been a huge learning curve for me. I’ve had to learn to let go of my precious little girl and embrace this new, independent, intelligent yet maddening young lady who tries my patience more than I ever thought possible. Car rides filled with yammering, singing and silliness have turned into listening to rock and metal music at top volume on Spotify. Luckily, our tastes are similar and (gasp) she doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot when it comes to my musical repertoire.

Instead of taking care of every little thing for her, I’ve learned to step back and let her learn and try things on her own. I can’t save her from every booboo and hurt, but I can be the safe space she turns to when she needs someone. I’m learning to listen without immediate judgment and not always jumping in with unsolicited advice. She still talks to me about things that are bothering her, so I think I must be doing something right.

The little girl who used to be obsessed with arts and crafts, earning as many 4-H ribbons as possible and making the biggest, bestest scrapbook in her club is now more interested in volleyball, basketball, skateboarding, trumpet and bass guitar lessons. I’m in awe of everything she does and wonder how she does it all. She performed in her first school musical this year when she used to be terrified of speaking in front of people. Who is this child?

I’m not going to lie; I’ve had a few nights when I’ve cried myself to sleep, worrying and wondering if I’m doing right by her and hoping and praying that our relationship might be as close as it once was. I see glimmers of the bubbly child peeking through the “cool” teen exterior and realize she’s still my Carolina at heart; she’s just trying to figure out who she is and where she belongs in this crazy world. I don’t envy kids growing up these days. They have challenges I never even dreamed of.

No matter what, I’ll always be there for her whether she likes it or not. And like I tell her, she’ll always be my baby, even when she’s 50. I just hope we can make it through these teen years…