One Tube of Guyliner Away from Emo

I occasionally use the phrase "So-and-so makes me understand why some animals eat their young." I never thought I'd insert my older son's name in that sentence. Don't get me wrong; I knew the oh-so delightful teenage years were inevitable. I was just hoping for a gradual segue into the depths of hell. A forewarning of some sort.

Instead, Jack went to bed one night my considerate, loving, loyal son, and awoke the next morning a sullen, mouthy teenager, full of piss and vinegar.

My little boy, my firstborn. He was a little surprise I got at Mississippi State as a sophomore. A small "oops" that I now tell him and others was the best thing to ever happen to me, the best decision I ever made. He was born in two and a half hours, a mercifully short labor for a scared-out-of-her-wits 20 year-old single mother (two months past the teenage-mom stigma - YES!), alone in the delivery room, save a close friend. I remember he came out perfect. Oh-so perfect. You usually find that babies with a headful of hair tend to be dark-haired, while blond babies come out as little cueballs, "bald as a peckerwood", my Granny used to say. Never understood why she inverted that word. Anyway, he had a thick, soft generous amount of golden blonde hair. The nurses ooohed and ahhhed over him. He would gaze up at me with startling, crystal-blue eyes. Pink and delicate. Just heavenly.

Yes, prejudiced mommy. Say all you want... I gave birth to the freakin' Gerber baby. He slept through the night at 4 weeks old (just in time for me to start back classes, woot!), he was joyful and giggly and chubby.

The perfection continued through the years. Super bright, he was reading at 4 years old. He started prefacing his phrases in preschool with "actually" and "eventually", moving on to second grade with "Hypothetically speaking" and the like. The Gerber Baby was the next Einstein. Only with better hair. Surely my ovaries were coated in 24k gold. Hold your applause. No, really.

Starting at 8 years old, Jack endured several surgeries and months upon months of physical therapy for an orthopedic issue. It was like caring for a 90-pound newborn back then, but he rarely complained. He missed all but two months of third grade, yet went on to score the second highest number of AR (reading) points for his entire elementary school, only slightly behind a fifth grader who'd had the entire 9-month school year to accumulate what Jack had in less than 8 weeks.

His baby brother, our fearless Finn, came along when Jack was 9 years old. It was love at first sight. Finally, a little more testosterone in our home after two stinky ol' sisters. You've never seen siblings this far apart in age so unusually close. My husband and I have said they'll both have separation anxiety when Jack goes off to college (Harvard or Boston College? We'll keep ya posted...). Jack wants to play with Finn, babies him, fixes him peanut butter and banana sandwiches. It is the sweetest thing watching the two of them together. Makes me farklempt (tawk amongst ya selves).

Though his affection and attention towards Finn has not faltered, the remnants of my once-sweet boy are slowly slipping away. Who are you, and what have you done with Jack???

All of my kids were excellent babies. No colic, nothing. We never have been the red-eyed, sleep-deprived parents. I always joked that because of that, we were going to catch hell when they became teenagers. Who knew how right we were? I'm waiting for even my older daughter's head to start spinning as she projectile vomits split-pea soup all over her Pepto-Bismol pink bedroom.

"You do NOT put your sister in a headlock!"

"What do you mean, this project is due tomorrow? When was it assigned? LAST MONTH?!?!"

"You shut your mouth when you're talking to me!"

"If you roll your eyes one more time, so help me God, I'll knock you into the middle of next week and be there on Wednesday to smack you again!"

"Why? WHY? Because I said so!"

"You slapped your sister?"

"Wipe that look off your face right this minute!"

"Do you want to get your cellphone and XBOX back before you turn 30 or what?"

The sullen looks, the silent stares of contempt... where did we go wrong? I don't care if it's the norm. I want to spray him down with Teenager-B-Gon. I buy him Gap and Ralph Lauren and Wallaby's. They get shoved to the back of his closet while he mumbles something about only wanting Levi's, Nikes, and hoodies. He has a thing for graphic tees, in an astounding array of black and grey. Sometimes he even gets a little crazy and might wear NAVY. Srsly. I will have to try to push the Alex P. Keaton look on Finn in later years, I suppose, because Jack ain't havin' it.

He's still a good kid. Most parents would give their eyeteeth to call Jack theirs. It could be so much worse. But to go from angelic, polite Jack to bordering-on-emo Jack in a short time frame has knocked me for a loop. I don't know if this is the worst, or the calm before the storm. Whichever it is, this is why God begat the scientists who begat Xanax. Praise the baby Jesus.