Shhhh… no one move, I want to stay here forever.
I could be 40 years old with three teens for the rest of my life and I’d be happy. I don’t even care about the peri-menopause. I like these hairs on my chin, all of this is fine, just leave me be.
My friend told me recently that the majority of parenthood happens when your kids are adults. You are a parent longer to an adult child (god willing) than a small child. And mathmatically, yes, that’s probably correct.
But, I was in Target the other day and there were fall pumpkins in the dollar area. Halloween pumpkins in the middle of summer, excuse you, sir?
I refuse to be rushed through this season of my life, Target. I will not sprint toward heartbreak. I rebuke your summer time jack-o-lanterns.
I’m positively maudlin, friends. All my days are labeled differently now. It’s not July, it’s my last normal July with Jude. My second-to-last July with Wyatt. I have three more summers with Gigi.
“The days are long, but the years are short,” is a stupid phrase people say with their stupid mouths to highlight how stupidly stupid all of this stupid part of parenting is.
You see, when your kids are little you’re so far underwater that you can’t even see the surface, and all of it feels like forever. But it’s not. It’s not forever, it’s seconds. Listen to me moms with babies, IT’S SECONDS.
Going forward, this is what I’m writing in all baby shower cards:
“You’re in for a world of hurt. I hope you like crying and contemplating your own mortality. Also, congrats on the baby.”
Lately, I keep thinking back to when I was a teenager. I was so hellbent on speeding up time so I could be an adult and marry my boyfriend and move far away. I keep trying to picture my parent’s faces. Did I ever catch them teary-eyed, watching me obsess over a life beyond them like some sort of heartless monster? Did I ever find them lingering in my room longer, or playing with my hair, or hugging me too long? Most likley, and I probably acted ridiculously annoyed about the whole thing because I was an asshole.
And for that, I am sorry. I AM SORRY MOM. I take it all back, because this? This sucks.
So I guess my question is… who am I when I’m not their everyday mom? I know I’m still their mom, obviously. But, will I survive waking up every day in a house without them? Will it ever not break my heart when they ignore my call because they’re busy living a life I don’t know everything about? Will there be a point this senior year that I won’t cry every day (asking for my contacts)?