18 Spins around the sun - Thoughts on raising our wonderful lad

Next week our son turns 18. This significant milestone comes with a barrage of mixed emotions and plenty of reflection on nearly two decades of parenting. We’re feeling a sense of sadness at the loss of childhood, excitement for the future and breathing a long sigh of relief that the hideousness of adolescence is almost behind us. This landmark has also made us think about what our family dynamic will look like with adult children. What about our relationship? Have we invested enough in each other over 18 years, with the demands of footy, nappies, hiding vapes, changing passwords, maths revision, driving everywhere and looking for shin-pads? Turning 18 is a man-made milestone bought about by western legislation but it has made us pause and ponder.

From the moment our giant baby was born (nearly 10lbs- ouch) it was clear he wanted to eat and move. With these needs met he was very contented and almost completely ambivalent to what was going on around him. When we’d pick him up from nursery he would crawl across anything in his path (including other babies) to reach his destination. Whilst other toddlers were colouring in, our son would be scaling bookshelves and flinging things across the room. He didn’t bother to walk and went straight to running, full throttle. He was completely un-phased when his sibling was born and on discovering that the baby didn’t do anything interesting, he went back to careering around in his typical style. When struggling with crippling post natal depression after my second child, I was terribly worried that my anxiety would have a profound and lasting effect on him. My psychiatrist reassured me that he was absolutely fine as our son ran around the clinic with a box on his head shouting ‘funny man’ at all the other patients.

Adolescence was a completely different ball game. I felt that our sunny little boy had vanished and been replaced by an angry, impenetrable teenager. It was a brutal curve ball that I never expected and I mourned my little boy. The swearing, room trashing and disengagement was brutalising. Emails came hard and fast from the school and I would shrink away at parents evenings as we heard the same old words ‘distracted’ ‘disruptive’ and ‘not meeting potential’. I possibly lost more sleep during this time that during the first few weeks of my sons life and would swap mastitis anytime for a full blown teenage row. My Mum patiently reassured me that this was a phase and he would revert back to his true character which shone through as a little boy. I kept a cute photo close, held my nerve and gradually he came out of the chrysalis.

We are now in ‘the alpaca years’ : easy going temperament with a propensity for anti social behaviour including spitting and carefully curated ‘mop’ (for more context google popular teenage boy haircut). We have lovely, albeit brief conversations. He adored our recently hatched chicks and accuses me of ‘cruelty’ when I put sunglasses on the dog. Our son is absolutely locked in and committed to his A Levels that will hopefully lead to a university placement and a bright and shiny future.

I am not under any illusion that this parenting lark is done and dusted. Our son is still finding his way out of that gnarly teenage chrysalis however he is almost unrecognisable from the ogre on the play station 18 months ago. There’s still plenty of fruity language during Chelsea matches and questionable behaviour in Spoons (spiritual home) but the spark is back and I am pretty sure he’s going to be ok.