The Sweatshirt

I've come to a realization that I've been trying to deny lately. There was a time when I was the center of Alec's universe. He would wear what I told him to wear; watch the t.v. shows I told him to watch; and sing the songs I told him to sing (He once knew all the words to "Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree, would sing duets with me to Air Supply & "Total Eclipse of the Heart").

Now, I'm the mother of a pre-teen who values his friends' opinions more than mine.

This morning he received a phone call from a friend who said, "We're wearing yellow today." I had no idea boys called each other to coordinate wardrobes, but they do. So Alec went upstairs and changed into this yellowish sweatshirt, which by the way I've been trying to get him to wear because it'll keep him warm, but he never would.

He came downstairs and said, "I know what you're going to say, so you don't have to say it."

But I did anyway. I, of course, mentioned how I had asked him many times to wear that sweatshirt, but he never did, then one phone call from a buddy, and boom he puts it on.

I couldn't stop myself from going into lecture mode. I said here I was, his mother who loves him more than anyone, dedicates my life to him and he doesn't do what I ask. But obediently does as his friend asks who he's known a couple of years.

I said this just proves he really needs my supervision more than ever since he so quickly gives in to his friend's wishes, yet consistently ignores mine.

I'm just scared, because now I don't know what he's doing all the time like I did when he was home with me. I see him liking music that gives me a headache and watching shows that seem too old for him.

This whole free agency concept is a tough one for me now. I know he has to make his own decisions, it's just so hard. I know I have bigger, tougher battles ahead of me and I don't look forward to them.

My mom once told me that no matter how old your kids get, you still see them as your babies. And I'm realizing, painfully, how true that is.