My kids’ pediatrician told me–when I had a toddler and a newborn and had not slept in four years–that things would get easier. I said, “I am glad you said that because my friends with teenagers say that the problems are just different, not easier.”

She paused. Thought about it. Then said, “Hm, maybe the problems are different, but when they are older, at least YOU are sleeping. So you can handle it better.”

I am not handling it better.

I may sleep more because those baby years taught my body to take advantage of every possible moment to sleep. I can fall asleep at any moment for any amount of time. On a plane. In my desk chair. At the dinner table. I have acquired a talent for squeezing all of the sleep out of life. If Carpe Diem is seize the day, I am all about Carpe Sleepem–seize the sleep.

So, yes, I am sleeping.

But these teenager problems. Oh my.

I was sure that I did not give my mom this kind of grief. So I asked her. You know, for validation. She had two comments for me:

1. Boys are easier than girls. (Wait. Are you saying my BROTHER was easier than I was? My brother? Have you ever met my brother?)
2. I was apparently a door slammer and curfew breaker. (Oh, yeah….)

My kids don’t slam doors or stay out late. There is no rebellion. No slamming doors. No breaking rules. No back-talking. No yelling. Not even sighing heavy.

Honestly, I might welcome a good, old-fashioned door slam every now and then. At least then I would know what was happening. There would be a beginning, a middle, and a satisfying slam at the end.

Instead, we have… conversations. Lots of them. And yet somehow, I still never know what is wrong.

Are they tired? Stressed? Hungry? Spiraling? Sick? Lonely? In pain?

Yes.

When they were little, problems were… not exactly easier… but definitely easier to understand. Someone cried. Someone bled. Someone needed a snack. Boo-boos could be fixed with a kiss and a milkshake. Even big things like a trip to the ER ended with a tangible solution. Stressful in the moment, sure. But finite. Fixable. Things you barely remember after the fact.

Now I am managing situations that have no clear cause, no solution, and no end in sight. It feels like I am driving through a blizzard with no windshield wipers. (Not sure if that simile works since I have never actually driven in a blizzard. Or without windshield wipers. But that is what I imagine.)

Or maybe it’s more like being handed a puzzle with no picture on the box and several missing pieces that the cat chewed up and the dog buried under the couch cushions. And also the puzzle sometimes tells you it doesn’t want your help.

When they were little, I had answers. I had Band-Aids. Snacks. A plan.

I had been thoroughly trained—by them—to fix things. There were systems. Protocols. Reliable tools.

And then, at some point, the job changed.

I am still showing up with the same skill set… and it is no longer particularly useful. The Band-Aids in my purse are so old they probably don’t even have any stickiness left on them. Useless. Like I feel.

So I regularly tell them the only thing I can think of: “I am just going to have to send you back to the baby factory.”

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Editor’s Note:

Since March 2019, Julie Willis has shared her voice — and her humor — with our readers, earning Parenting Media Awards along the way. This column marks her final contribution, and we are deeply grateful for the years of laughter, truth, and heart she so generously gave to these pages.