Teenager

Dear Bug,

I can absolutely not believe you are a teenager. A real, actual teenager.

I'm pretty sure I say that I can't believe you are whatever age you are each birthday, but this year I mean it more than ever.

I'll be honest. I've been dreading this age. 13 and all its accompaniments. Junior high, puberty, angst. It all just dredges up horrible memories of my own newly teenage self.

However, do I even dare say 'so far, so good'?

Because you are 13 are absolutely delightful. When I was 13, delightful was never a word used to describe me. Some of it may have to do from that Y chromosome you have, the one that gave me grief during your toddler age. I do think that most of it is just from you being you.

You are an amazing kid, boy, child, person.

You are funny, and thoughtful, and helpful. You are an amazing older brother, helping out with Duck all the time (in fact, you can get him down for his nap better than anyone.) You are incredibly driven. You made your own account for online summer math classes and have spent time each day studying algebra and independent and dependent variables.

You have yet to show any interest in girls, which is fine. Feel free to keep it that way for another 10 plus years.

You are really settling into yourself, your personality become more fully developed each day.

I also recognize that just as you were getting comfortable with yourself and your world, we uprooted you and moved you across the country, away from everything familiar. I know the timing couldn't have been worse. I apologize for that. I hope that you don't hold this against me forever. (So far, you don't seem to, but I can't help projecting my own feelings of guilt onto you. Sorry about that too.)

I often read of my friends struggling with their preteen and teenage boys, and I wonder how I got so lucky. I know that our struggles will not stay confined to me prodding you to make your bed and get your hair cut. But for now, I'll take what we have and enjoy it each day I can.

Love,
Mom