Of all the ages I can remember being, the tween years are some of the freshest in my mind. Maybe because that’s the time when you really start to figure out who you are and what you want and who you hope to be. Maybe it’s because that’s the start of the BIG changes, like leaving elementary school and meeting new friends and everything shifting.
Maybe it’s the hormones.
But when my oldest daughter turned 11, I felt prepared for everything that was to come. I knew there’d be a lot of crying. I knew there’d be a lot of hormones she couldn’t control, that she’d feel unmoored and uncertain, that she may find herself upset and not have a reason why.
I just wasn’t expecting the tween years to basically be the toddler years all over again.
There’s a lot of crying, a lot of “stay with me,” a lot of clinging. There’s a lot of “Mama, whatcha doing?” and a lot of “Can I come with you?” to every move I make. There’s a lot of pouting, a lot of big reactions, a lot of anger they can’t explain. There’s a lot of worrying, a lot of nervousness, a lot of trying new things.
Sometimes my tween comes up to me while I’m cooking dinner, and leans her body against mine. Her hip almost meets mine now, but she can still rest her head against my shoulder. “What’s up?” I ask, stirring taco meat. “Nothing,” she mumbles. “Huggy?”
I put the spoon down. Hug. Always.
At bedtime, she tells me she’s not tired. “I don’t want to go to bed,” she says, sounding like she’s 2 years old again. “Sleep is good for you!” I say, like she’s 2 years old again. “Come lay with me,” she begs.
She sits against me as we read the stories her little sisters pick out. She plays Sims on her own computer, but sits on the couch with all of us. She asks me for a million snacks and eats every last bite. She gets emotional, crying before she goes to school some mornings because she says she’s going to miss me. A weekend away from us, even with grandparents, sometimes begins with me having to leave her crying in their house, sneaking out the door and cutting off goodbyes.
Like I did when she was just a toddler.
The tween years are the perfect blend of “I’m too big for all of this!” and “I’m still little and I don’t want to do anything new,” just like the toddler years. There’s a lot of pushing and pulling, a lot of wanting to stay home and be near their comforts, and a lot of wanting to run as far away as possible when they see something new they want to experience. So much of the toddler years is spent teaching your little one to be a big kid.
And so much of the tween years is spent teaching your kid to be an adult.
You don’t want them to grow up too fast in either age — but you know you have to prepare them for what’s coming. You’re weaning them off of sippy cups and bottles as toddlers to drink like big kids, and then suddenly you’re pushing them into the library by themselves as tweens because they need to know how to ask other adults for help finding something.
You’re teaching them manners as toddlers and appropriate reactions and how to be a friend.
Then you’re teaching them how to know when a situation with a friend is unsafe, and how being polite isn’t the same as being nice, and how to listen to their gut.
At every turn, just like when they were toddlers, you wonder how you got here so fast with your tween. Weren’t they just asking for you to hold them? Weren’t they just crying when you dropped them off at school? Weren’t they just climbing into your lap to read a story?
Oh, wait. Yes. They were.
Because the tweens are basically giant toddlers that need deodorant. And you’re going to knock your back out trying to hold them around the house again.
