This year, my husband and I have been blessed to have both: a new baby and a teenager (with three others in between). So I have the opportunity few parents give themselves the right to have nowadays — to compare the two and formulate my own theory about which deserves to be the poster-child for domestic bliss.
Babies are cuddly, helpless and harmless. Teenagers are gangly, wanting total independence, and harmfully critical of their parents.
The baby babbles in endless, meaningless dialogue. The teenager foolishly repeats everything to his grandparents and has to be cautioned not to talk the way he does with his peers in public.
My teenager is no longer the cute, picture-perfect newborn I brought home only yesterday. The little body that I could fold protectively in my arms is now taller than I am. The little hand that clung to my blouse as I fed him is now larger than my own.
While I rub baby oil onto his baby sister’s fuzzy scalp, my teenager is rubbing styling gel onto his own hair. As I kiss the baby’s sweet chubby cheeks, I see my teenager applying medicated skin ointment onto his own cheeks. While I rub sweet-smelling baby lotion over the baby’s freshly bathed body, I am demanding that my teenager go take a proper shower and apply proper deodorant.
People want to protect babies. They’re soft and kissable. They don’t talk back. Parents have control over their small lives. They must wear the clothes you put on them.
But babies grow into teenagers who get into trouble. Teenagers have babies of their own. Teenagers are work and worry. Teenagers talk back to their parents and other people in authority. Parents seem to have little or no control over their teenagers’ lives. They certainly don’t wear what you want them to wear. Teenagers are far from lovable and generally dislike being kissed.
The differences between a teenager versus a baby can not be disputed. There is no doubt about which makes the better poster-child. Whatever life issue we are debating, no matter which age in life we are defending; the baby represents the whole person, the entire human race.
I cannot focus exclusively on my new baby as the source of all my joy, however. I must look past the obvious pleasures and beauty of my newborn and focus on finding the joy in sharing life with my teenager.
I can find fault with my teenager for sitting sullen in church during the homily. But when his little sister slips on the kneeler and hurts her tailbone, he is quick to pick her up and comfort her. I cannot find fault with that.
I can find fault with my teenager when his ideas and opinions do not coincide with mine. But when he accompanies me to the store and opens up to me, sharing insights into his personal life and viewpoints, I cannot find fault with that.
I can find fault with the way my teenager’s joking goes over the edge, especially towards his younger siblings. But when he sees me upset and affectionately wraps his arm around my shoulder and says, “Aw, mom, you know I’m just joking,” I cannot find fault with that.
I can find fault with the music my teenager enjoys. But when we fall silent in the van as Alan Jackson’s “Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning” comes on, and he agrees that it’s a mighty, heart-moving song about faith, hope, and love, I cannot find fault with that.
So I find myself still waiting for the curse to take effect. Maybe it will be this year when my teenage son gets his driver’s permit. Maybe it will be next year when he’s allowed to drive without adult supervision. Maybe it will be in three years when he announces he’s old enough to be on his own and moves away. Maybe it will be in three years when he decides not to move away.
The teenage years may be a difficult, sacrificing time for both teenagers and parent, but in its fullness it is a season that makes the parents realize and appreciate the treasure of their past youth and the young look forward to the fullness of tomorrow.
Each frame of life corresponds with a season. My newborn is in the spring of life. My teenager is in early summer. My husband and I are in the fall while our parents are in the winter of their lives. We need to take a breath and recognize the beauty and challenge and mystery in each one.
Cay Gibson is a freelance writer in Louisiana. She writes a pro-life column for The Southwest Catholic newspaper of the Diocese of Lake Charles. This article originally appeared in the Southwest Catholic.
