“Mom, I feel sad and I don’t know why.”
Gulp. Oh boy. Mentally thinking back to my preteen years. Audrey is 9. Yes, I remember there being lots of tears. Angst. More tears. Random fluctuations between despair and giddiness. As much as I would enjoy keeping my head in the sand, apparently, 9 years old is not too young to be considered a preteen.
When I was in college I used to call home to check in with my mom before a weekend visit. Not because I was thoughtful. Mostly, I wanted to know if she was on her “happy” pills that kept her hormones stable. True story. 18 year old young adults think they are so smart. I’m lucky my mom had a sense of humor!
My poor mom. I’m positive there was a long phase of my life where, with each change in my hormone levels, I would pick a fight with her. I repaid her by mocking her in her time of need.
Now it’s my turn. This is the stage in life, when moms of 9 year old girls everywhere call their own mothers and apologize. I am sorry. You were a saint. I was wrong. How did you survive? Why did you let ME survive? Help me.