Cicada: a large, noise-producing insect with a blunt head, protruding eyes and two pairs of wings. At least that is what my dictionary says.

I had to look it up, because I had no idea what all the hype around here is about. I do not remember being affected at all by this 17-year life cycle back in 1987. I think that is because I was engulfed in another emerging life cycle.

Seventeen years ago this May, my first child was born. And for me, my world revolved around wrapping a blanket of protection around her, not the saplings in my yard. And so it would be for another year and then another and another. And before I knew it, 17 years had passed. Talk of baby prams has turned to talk of junior proms. Worry about her Apgar score is replaced with worry about her SAT score.

Like the cicadas, she is emerging. And I'm not so sure I like it.

I think this emergence began to make an impression on me when she got that little plastic card of freedom we refer to as a driver's license. Suddenly, she was able to go farther and farther from home.

And this year, the rest of the world has been inviting her to emerge. College brochures arrive daily, encouraging her to come and see what lies beyond our city, and even our state.

Now, I know it's all a part of life and I really don't want any of my children to stay home forever. It's just I thought 17 years would take a little bit longer to get here. No one told me that one day she would be planning what snack to serve at her preschool tea party, and seemingly the next day, she would be planning the rest of her life.

My dictionary tells me that the cicada makes the loudest sound of any insect in the world. Now, I am suspecting that the loudest sound teenagers make is when the door shuts behind them when they go off to college.

I have no idea what to expect with either the emerging cicadas or the emerging young adult in my home. I have spotted signs of both coming soon. Maybe this year I will wrap my saplings in a protective blanket and simply pray that my 17-year-old will somehow always feel a blanket of protection around her.

Teenager: a large, noise-producing human, with a sometimes blunt head, rolling eyes, and yes, a pair of wings.

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Tammy Bundy is the mother of four noise-producing offspring and the author of six books. She lives with her husband and the noise producers in Wyoming, where she is wrapping everything she can in a blanket.

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