She’s 28 today; at 5:25pm to be exact. Twenty-eight!! I can hardly comprehend it…and my guess is neither can she. Although she has a family and children of her own now, she’s still…and will always be…my first baby.
I can hardly remember the time when I didn’t have children. Peanut’s Mama was my first born. At age 27, I had not a clue what I was getting into with this mommy gig. I had no idea the raw emotion that would be stirred up inside me when becoming a mom. That, regardless of how old my children are, there is the visceral, primal instinct of a mother bear when it comes to protecting them; so strong that I’d give my own life for them.
I was fortunate enough to be a stay-at-home mom when both of my daughters were young. But even though they’re grown now and I’m part of the “working world,” there’s still a tendency to want to drop everything when I hear their familiar ring tone or text alert. And worse yet, I tend to want to drop everything and call when I don’t hear from them for extended periods of time. The state of my happiness is forever tied to theirs.
And I spend a lot of time these days second-guessing the decisions I made along the way. I analyze what I think I did wrong. What did I do right? After all, no one provides an instruction manual when you take home one of these blank slates from the hospital. Every misstep they make seems like a referendum on my parenting. At least it does in my mind. So much pressure to succeed! Some days I wish I could turn back the hands of time and have a few do-overs.
It’s evident to me that we women who are raising/have raised children become part of some secret sisterhood that forever changes the way we feel about ourselves and the world. We smile and nod to each other, knowing we’ve each walked in the other’s shoes when it comes to a child’s very public meltdown. We emotionally embrace each other when hearing reports of a child that’s missing. We share the sheer joy of watching a sleeping child and marvel at this miracle we’ve been given.
All this all seems a bit crazy when realizing my “baby” is 28 years old and is no longer that elfish toddler or awkward teenager that needs her mother’s tender touch. But then again, if you’re part of the secret sisterhood….it doesn’t seem the least bit crazy at all.
Happy Birth Day! I love you! May your life’s journey be blessed.