Puberty: The Sequel!
on Interesting Times
Hi from Up North.
I’m reunited with our daughter (almost 8), who thought she wanted to spend a little time in Michigan alone with her grandparents but then FaceTimed me sobbing every day because she’s never been away from us before. “My brain thought I was ready, but I’m not ready!” she said. You never have to be away from me again until you’re ready, I assured her. By day four her nightly sob had taken an existential turn.
“I’m excited for you to come, but how do I know it’s really you?” she asked. I blame this on this Muppets movie we just watched wherein Kermit was switched out with an evil lookalike from a Siberian Gulag. She won’t even let her dad fake a Russian accent, that’s how spooked she was by this. What do you mean? I said. “Well, what if you look like you, but you aren’t you?” The pitch of her voice notched up, her chin wobbled. “Or what if I see you, but it’s a dream. How do I know if it’s real life?” I watched her eyes dart around as the walls of reality bent and shifted around her.
Hoo boy, I told my husband after the call. We remembered the summer right before our son turned eight—same age as she is now—when he had the most anxious period of his life, briefly being scared of inclement weather, going outside, getting in a pool, sleeping down the hall, all things he had previously not had a problem with. I’m understanding now that he was having the same sort of dawning awareness of a greater reality, one that would have been difficult to put into words. My husband wondered what else she’d be realizing this summer. She’s going to understand everyone has their own thoughts and feelings next, I said. Here comes sonder.
Together we counted down the sleeps until I saw her. I did move up my flight, obviously, because my heart is made of pudding. I helped her soothe her worry brain with various time-tested exercises. She visualized her worries as a pillow with eyes. She soothed it to sleep. She marveled at the difference. We were only apart for a week, and my presence after I landed stabilized her within a day or so, although she wants her dad and brother here, for the family to feel complete.
Said brother (12.5) is rounding out week six at a sleepaway camp, after never having been away before. He loves it, we barely hear from him, and he’s always running off to something more fun than a phone conversation. His sister and I drove up last weekend to start up our annual vacation homestead, and we got to check him out for the day on Sunday. He looked older—taller and leaner, his spine more firm, somehow. I sent my husband a photo and he remarked on his “cool guy smile.” He radiated a calm self-assurance. I was so proud of him.
We went to a bookstore and lunch, and to the cabin we’re renting, before dropping him back off at camp. I gave him many too-long hugs, watched him closely, wondering where my baby went, and he told me he’s been learning some things about women. Then he asked if my menstrual cycles had stopped. I want an Oscar for the straight face I kept while mumbling out a nonchalant “well… kinda.”
Before he left, we had been fighting in a way that felt way more intense than regular parent-kid friction. I started to understand it was chemical, and apologized to him, explaining that I was going through some hormonal stuff, just like he was. He nodded, deep in thought. “So it’s like… puberty: the sequel.” I laughed. That’s exactly it. What a fine pair we made.
In the weeks since, I’ve gotten my hormones sorted out and thought it would be funny if I informed him of this. He mentioned this on our day out together. “I got your last postcard,” he said—I had scratched out a quickie last week saying something like good news, I’m not mad any more because I got hormone patches! He couldn’t read my scrawl, so he passed it around the cabin to see if any of the other boys could, and they think they pieced it together. I was briefly mortified, but then shrugged. It’s not the worst for a bunch of preteen dudes to be informed, these days. They can handle it.
Only five more sleeps until he’s back home, said my daughter and I in the car after our day together. We were a little sad, but excited he’ll be with us soon. And my husband will be here even sooner than that. There was a long silence as we listened to our playlist, and then I heard her pipe up from the back. “Everyone has their own thoughts and lives?” she said, and I peeked back at her in the mirror. Awareness washed over her face, this time more light than shadow. I wonder if it’s because I’m here with her, to provide a center of gravity while she explores the outer reaches of her mind. Isn’t that interesting? I said. She seemed delighted.
More soon. x