Nice to meet you, again and again and again.

I have insomnia again. One travels through many states when up for an extended period of time alone and sleep deprived. I seem to have found the bored and sentimental part of the evening so I thought maybe I should take Amy's advice and begin blogging. I make no promises that it will be articulate or entertaining. But I can promise it will be in English.

Thirteen years ago, I became acquainted with a girl named Phoebe. Truth be told, she wasn't named that already, that's the name we gave her when she was born. She was 6lbs. 12 oz. of the closest thing I had ever found to perfection. A genuine source of amazement and pride because I honestly had never really imagined that I could ever create anything as wonderful as what I, then struggled to even hold properly. Many mothers talk about the instant, absorbing love that they felt at that moment. I'm not one of those mothers. I was just pretty freaked out. Believe me, I wanted to have that maternal feeling and was sure there must have really been something wrong with me for not having this immediate, all consuming affection for my child. But it just wasn't there yet. I was going to have to wait. I was going to have to get to know her and learn to love on our own terms.

Thankfully, that love did come shortly thereafter but it took a little time .I have lived with a girl named Phoebe for thirteen years and I have loved her through almost the entire time but today I will confess, I haven't liked her near as much (especially the past few years). Since Phoebe has become a pre-teen, teen, whatever term she currently falls under, it often feels as if her goal is to see how long it takes until I lose it, like I am actually a science project or something. I sometimes imagine she has a stopwatch in her pocket that she references after an argument and on her way up to her room she notes, "Hmmm, this time it only took 12 minutes, the subject seems sensitive to eye rolling and the mumbling of expletives. Very interesting..."

This is not to say we have a bad relationship or always fight. All in all I think we are doing okay. But it can be exhausting never knowing how a conversation with her will turn out. Every morning the girl that comes down the stairs is a different one from the girl that went up the night before at bedtime. Maybe its just hormones, or the mystery of adolescent brain development. Maybe she thinks transformative thoughts before she drifts off to sleep each night. I have no idea. What I do know is that each day it seems like I am meeting Phoebe all over again.

Today we struggled to have basic normal interactions all day long. At one moment she wants my undivided attention so she can tell me every detail of conversation with a friend (complete with the likes peppered throughout the story until you unintentionally begin to keep count), the next moment she doesn't want to even answer you when you ask her if she is hungry. God forbid, you ask her if she had a fight with a friend you hadn't seen in a while or why she came downstairs made up like a beauty pageant contestant after months of only wearing lip gloss. She treats me like I am Kenneth Starr and if I find out what she wants for dinner she will be impeached from the 8th grade. I'm so over it. Just when I am contemplating what kind of response will help me feel vindicated without warranting a visit from social services it occurred to me that Phoebe is as confused by her actions as I am.

Maybe I am not the only one forced to reacquaint myself with her each day. Maybe Phoebe is meeting herself over and over again everyday too. Maybe Phoebe is getting to know herself and just trying to find a way to love herself on her own terms. She may have to wait a while. In the meantime, I may have to love this stranger enough for the both of us, even if I can't always like her. And today, I don't. Really on my nerves...