#4 Gap

When my husband and I found out that we were going to be parents we made the decision to not find out the gender as there aren’t many true surprises left in the world so we’d wait and see.

We spent those eight or so months guessing, coming up with names, speculating on what mix of our personalities they’d inherit, all the normal things.

And I convinced myself I was having a boy. Simply because I had a super active baby, that nearing the last trimester decided one day to turn into a breech position, head just under my rib cage and stay there. Just like their Dad, I thought, headstrong.

To anyone reading this, you get the next part, on the day of my delivery, I was greeted with “It’s a girl”.

I was shocked, my husband was not, and there in started the most wonderful day of our lives with our perfect, squishy pink little baby girl.

As an aside, in my haze, still in the theatre, I proposed a name to my husband that was off script, he having watched everything I went through to deliver would have agreed to anything in that moment, except I was met with “Ah no, you’re not naming her that, you’ll regret it” from my OB. Thanks Doc, you were right.

So cut to now, my perfect pink little bundle of joy is a fully blown teenager. She is awesome, full of smarts, kindness, fun, sass and a beauty that radiates from oustide in. I am certainly a biased mother.

She’s always been my girl. We have a good balance even though we are two fire signs. She looks more like me but is blessed with her Dad’s easier personality.

Her shift from tween to teen was pretty smooth. The normal bumps in the road, some friendship dramas, a big move which she handled gracefully and somehow became an even brighter, golden version of herself. Proud.

But lately, I’ve noticed the gap between us is a little bigger.
The same jokes and giggles don’t land.
Encouragement to do her homework is met with resistance.
Help is met with attitude.
And asking for help? It’s easier not to.

Her phone has become her go-to advisor. Our usual after school and evening chats have been replaced by her filming short snippets of conversation and sending them to friends. I don’t get it. As a child of the 90s, I cannot fathom why we can’t just call. How do you keep a conversation going in fragments? Isn’t it stilted?

So yeah, I’ve taken it personally, that’s on me.

I wasn’t sure what I’ve done, how to fix this. So I did the worst thing, I retreated.

By coincidence, I sat next to a woman at a mum’s lunch recently who shared her experience with her now adult daughter. She assured me this was normal. The gap appears, stays briefly, and then closes again into a closeness like never before. There were quiet tears at the table. The relief was indescribable.

I am not naive nor special, this happens to everyone and that’s the point, I really don't think we as a collective talk about our experiences, too worried in this day and age to be viewed as anything less than perfect. We want our kids to be seen as perfection because then surely we are seen as parental perfection personified, right? Oh hell no.

I think maybe that’s one of the key reasons I started writing here.

I feel like I’m failing at parenting a teen. I’m not as sure footed as I once was. I try to do the right thing and am met with an eye roll or a startled look that tells me I’ve missed the mark entirely.

When I try to talk to friends with daughters the same age, it either sounds like I’m criticising mine, or I’m met with: “Oh, she’d NEVER do that.” Righto.

So I lie awake sometimes. I scroll photos of her when she was little right through to now and oh my god, she is wonderful. Eventually I fall asleep with those memories.

Morning comes.

The tween is up first, he’s bright, buzzing, ready to go.
I walk past my daughter’s door. Silence.
I go in gently and wake her. She smiles, gets up, kisses me on the cheek as she walks past.

And I think, “Jesus. I’m the probem. She’s magic. What have I been carrying on about?”

The house becomes a hive of boy energy. They head off to sport.
It’s just me and my girl.

I take a breath, go back in to help her with her hair — who knew a perfectly messy ponytail could be such a precision sport?

I ask her how she is. What’s on today.
She gives me the rundown, reminds me she’s going out with her friends after school.

And then I ask if she’s noticed the gap between us.

“Yes, Mum. I’m just trying to figure out who I am. There’s a lot going on. But I still love you.”
She laughs. I tear up.

“Everyone goes through this, you know,” she adds.
Then she turns back to her phone, filming more videos to send to girls she will see in 15 minutes.

It may not seem like much.
But to me, it was everything.

She sees the gap.
She knows it’s there.

And she trusts it’s temporary.

She’s still my girl.

So advice to those about to embark on the teen years “Mind the gap” but remember it’s not forever.