Because it really is personal…

Ok, there is NOTHING reasonable about being up at 3:15am unless it’s from STILL being up. Which this is not. I slept fine until I had to get up at 2, then I bumped Terry’s arm getting back in bed and that was ugly. Naturally, 3:15 am means every single thing that bothering me is being blown way out of proportion. It’s all “what if” this and “what would have” that. Now I’m in tears because I’m a little groggy and can’t get the “what if” out of my head. I’ll be fine once the sun is up, but right now the night demons are really chewing on me.

I hate this. I hate stress. I hate feeling this way about one of my children. I hate the way I tense up whenever he comes in the room. I hate expecting bad behavior from him. I hate feeling like, somehow, this is my fault, that I did something wrong to make him this way. How is it that a child for 16 years is sweet and generous and kind suddenly turns into a self centered bully who will do anything it takes to get what he wants, with no regard for consequences. Why does a person go from being cheerful and willing and helpful to someone who will do anything he damn well pleases with absolutely no sort of govenor on his mind, nothing that says ‘wrong, Will Robinson’ no apparent concience or guide. What have I done to create this?

Ok, I know the Nature vs Nurture argument. I know the Hormones Theory. I know the Bible verse that says “Teach a child the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it” (can’t give you the reference point, but this verse has kept me from walking off a cliff many times, especially at 3:15 in the am). I know it says “when he is old” and not “when he is 17″. It’s just that, I went through this sort of heartache with Will, and I was really, truly hoping that I wouldn’t go through it again after that. I mean, honestly. Once was enough. And no, it didn’t equip me for this time. Will never got violent. I was never afraid of him. Angry, yes. But not afraid.

I’m only really afraid at 3:15 in the am. Because of the ‘what if’s’ and ‘what might have happened’ and all those things this stupid mind of mind digs up in the middle of the night, after waking up and bumping Terry’s arm. In my defense, he *does* take up 3/4 of the bed right now, with his supporting cast of pillows and all, I didn’t mean to do it, but I did, and it feels like just one more thing I’ve done wrong, at 3:15 in the am.

Ok, anyone who is reading this. It’s 3:15 in the am, and I am not exactly reasonable. I need to get this out and put virtual pen to paper. Writing it down somehow lances the boil in my head. I know when I read this later I’ll see how silly I’m being, but right now it doesn’t feel silly, it just feels…I don’t know. It’s good to put it down. Instead of thoughts rolling around in my head, gaining momentum and steamrolling me, it’s kind of…helping me out a bit. Now, instead of wanting to lay down and cry, I’m feeling a little hungry. Supper last night was at 5, and that’s 10 hours ago. Maybe if I eat something I’ll feel better, or drink a ginger ale, or something.

Why is it that everything is worse at 3:15 am? I hear it’s like that for everyone. Is it because it’s so quiet? No distractions so your mind gloms on to whatever’s in there? There’s no cicadas chirping, no crickets or frogs, nothing. No cars driving by, no dishwasher or laundry, the dogs are asleep, everyone is asleep but the cats, and they just stared at me like I was nuts for looking in on them.

The thing is, with CJ, I really, really want to be back to where we were, oh…2 or 3 years ago. Before he fell in with a group of friends who dropped out of school (oh, you say that, and he’ll rattle off one or two who didn’t, who’s parents love them because they were willing to buy them a $45,000 Z71 truck and didn’t make them suffer the humiliation of driving a small 14 yr old truck in an unpopular shade of green). Before girls, before all of that. When he still wanted to go to church on Wednesday nights, and still respected the youth leaders there, and his parents here. I know, it’s a phase and in 10 years he’ll love us again. But this isn’t 10 years from now. This is NOW and NOW he does not respect us, does not care what we think, only worries about what will happen to HIM. Terry’s the one with the broken arm. The one who can’t sleep because of it. Right now CJ’s sound alseep on his comfortable bed. I’m in here worrying myself into a migraine over his future.

How does a person go from being generous, helpful and a delight to be around to someone who’s a bully, mean and self centered in seemingly no time? How, as a parent, do I not blame myself for this? When will it get better?