There’s a person in my house. She’s 13 now, which makes me the parent of a teenager.
How did this happen? [Don’t answer that.]
Strangely, rather than feeling old, I just feel like she’s not really *of* me anymore. Like she’s not my kid, because she’s NOT really a kid, and so there’s this person in my house. She’s tall, she does a whole lot of homework, and requires rides to various places constantly. She eats a bean quesadilla nearly every night, and mostly remembers to put the cheese away. Last night she left 3/4 of a block of Colby/Jack out, which was annoying since cheese is a precious commodity here. I speak to this person: “You left the cheese out.”
She responds: “Oh! I’m so sorry.”
It’s odd, this body. In my house.