Midnight - Because I'm a Mom

It’s after midnight and I’m waiting for my daughter to come home. It’s not that she has a curfew because she doesn’t. She’s 25 and can rightfully stay out as long as she wants. But, because I’m her mom and because we share a house, I worry about her when she doesn’t come home as expected.

It’s a point of contention between us as it was with my mother and me, but it doesn’t change the fact that I get concerned about her.

With my mother, it went a bit further than mere worrying. She’d try to deny me permission to do this, that and the other (you’re not going there, oh no you’re not, etc.) even into my late 40s, early 50s. It annoyed the hell out of me. But, one thing I always did was make sure she knew I was ok while I was out, even when I went out against her wishes (which was pretty much always after a while). I knew she’d stay up worrying if I didn’t let her know.

My daughter, on the other hand, refuses to check in to let me know she’s OK. She makes it clear that what she does isn’t any of my business (which it technically isn’t), but I’m not asking what she’s doing. I’m asking her to let me know that all is well; that when she doesn’t come home as expected, nothing bad has happened. I don’t think that’s asking too much. She demands to know why I want to know and there is only one answer.  Because I’m a mom.

I always gave her a lot of freedom, probably more than I should have. All I asked in return was for her to check in so I knew she was OK. But, to her, that’s like me trying to prevent her from being who she is, an invasion of privacy of the highest order. I don’t understand that.

So, I’m up late fairly often, waiting to know that she’s home, that she’s safe. She may not like it, but it allows me to sleep once I know. In most ways, my daughter is an amazing person. She’s intelligent (frightfully so), bright and personable. She’s got an excellent work ethic and there isn’t an employer she’s had that wouldn’t take her back in a heartbeat if they had the chance. But, at home, we butt heads like feuding elk or bighorn sheep. It’s draining, but I won’t stop worrying as long as we share a home and I don’t hear from her. Because I’m a mom.