This week, my youngest child turns thirteen, officially making me the mother of three teenagers. (No wonder those gray hairs are multiplying!)
Navigating the teenage years is incredibly challenging. When my kids were little, I had the power to shape their lives—I decided what they ate, what they watched on TV, who they hung out with, and when they went to bed. How much could I mess that up? Even if they started their day with sugary cereal, I could balance it out by serving something healthier at lunch. Now, however, they’re making choices that could have serious, long-term impacts. I feel the clock ticking as I scramble to impart life’s most important lessons.
On top of that, there’s the constant anxiety about online safety, substance use, their futures, and even the basics like clean underwear—because if they end up in an accident without it, everyone at the hospital will think I’ve raised a band of Neanderthals.
To all those parents of older kids who sympathized with me back when I was a new mom—when I was a sleep-deprived, incoherent version of myself, smelling of sweat and sour milk, barely managing to brush my teeth daily—you assured me, “Don’t worry. It gets easier.”
I held onto that promise tightly, believing there was light at the end of the tunnel. But as my clingy baby transitioned into a toddler who was glued to my leg, I kept grasping at those words of reassurance. Through years filled with stinky diapers, toppled Christmas trees, and grocery store meltdowns, I waited. I endured being pooped on, peed on, and covered in slobber. Even after countless renditions of “The Wheels on the Bus” and rescuing the dog from a spilled bag of chocolate chips, you all still said, “Don’t worry. It gets easier.”
By the time I reached this point in motherhood, I had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t get simpler anytime soon. But I still had hope. I was at least getting some sleep, which I needed to answer endless questions and fish the goldfish out of the aquarium after my four-year-old decided it needed some fresh air. I had learned to deal with overflowing toilets clogged by socks, Legos, and half-eaten sandwiches.
Now, however, it’s all about slamming doors, sarcastic eye rolls, and boundary-testing. There’s questioning my authority, arguing about fairness, and worrying about reputations. It’s about dropping everything when a teenager needs to talk urgently. It’s helping with math homework, enforcing curfews, discussing topics like consent and privilege, and dealing with friendship drama. And don’t even mention inappropriate messages sent to my daughter; that’s a whole different level of stress.
So please, don’t tell me it gets easier. Just don’t.
I call complete nonsense.
I’ve exchanged soothing boo-boos for mending broken hearts. I’ve traded sleepless nights rocking a restless infant for sleepless nights worrying about their choices when I’m not around—choices that could change their lives, and mine, forever. I’ve gone from singing nursery rhymes to repeating “Be Responsible.” I’ve swapped endless questions about how the world works for ones about human behavior that often leave me stumped.
They still demand food, though… that hasn’t changed at all.
At least I no longer smell like baby vomit. So, there’s that.
In some ways, life has become easier. I can leave the house without little ones clinging to me. I enjoy longer stretches of sleep, and it’s been months since I’ve been covered in someone else’s sick.
However, in many ways, things are much tougher. (And believe me, they’re not as cute or forgivable as they once were.)
What I imagined when you told me, “Don’t worry. It gets easier,” was a return to normalcy—being able to shower and think without interruptions, making decisions based on my own desires rather than what’s best for the family. I longed for that pre-kid version of myself who wasn’t constantly stressed about raising tiny humans.
But once you become a parent, you have to carve out a new normal. Sometimes that means wearing old sweatpants because nothing else fits or dodging Legos scattered across the floor while trying to keep chocolate out of reach. It might mean functioning without your morning coffee or a good night’s rest, yet still loving your life. It’s about bandaging scraped knees and answering those awkward questions, all while loving your children fiercely.
When you’re the mother of three teenagers, it’s about setting boundaries and allowing them to stumble as they learn. It’s having difficult conversations while ignoring their eye rolls and stepping back when they make mistakes (which is incredibly tough). The new normal is trusting them to make good choices, even when they don’t always succeed—and loving them through it all.
And let me tell you, that’s not easy. But it’s what normal looks like.
For all you mothers of young kids out there, don’t buy into the myth that it gets easier. They mean well, but they’re mistaken. It doesn’t get simpler, but it transforms. Those little ones are constantly evolving, just as you are. You grow, learn, and adapt with each passing day.
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In summary, motherhood is a journey filled with challenges and transformations. While it may never truly get easier, it does evolve, and so do you. Embrace the chaos, cherish the moments, and know that you are not alone in this adventure.