Growing up is hard to do

I struggled with this post for a couple of reasons, the first is that it’s an assignment  from the Blogging Fundamentals class, with the idea centering on who I want my ideal audience to be and then write to that person in mind.  I don’t have that nailed down yet, I think I see a mom/friend/wife, slightly anxious, insecure, and more than anything tired, but I can’t say that image is the only one I see.  I also see men, younger women, and older women than myself, and really anyone who can relate to everyday struggles.

Second, I teetered between a few topics before settling on this one.  And this one, well this is the toughest and most vulnerable one, but I figure, that’s the point of this stab at writing so just go for it.

I was abruptly reminded this weekend of the fact that I am indeed a grown up.  Now let it be known, I am of (mostly) sound mind and know I am a grown up.  I have a hubby,  two kids, house, career, etc… but I don’t think, at least I don’t consciously think about all those responsibilities as being a ‘grown up.’ What I mean is I can’t point at my 6 year old after a particularly nasty fight between the two of us and say “It’s her fault!”… I am not 6, we are not on a playground and I need to be the mature one, I need to be the Mama.  My feelings and therefore conversations with myself  run from “I don’t wanna” to “OK put on your big girl panties and stop screaming at your kid.”

So, after a rough start to our weekend, a bit of stern talk, taking some time to go swimming, and then spending concentrated one on one time with my daughter, the remainder of the day improved.  By no means one the of best days as a parent, but we all survived it and came out of the day with a hug.  I also do need to credit my baby boy with his easy going manner which aided me to calm down.  The love and calmness that radiates from him is helping our household more than can be explained in words.  I still stare at him in wonder at times, amazed at his demeanor amidst the chaos and yelling.

Next, my aging Mom.  I have come to terms with the fact that my parents are getting older.  When I was a kid, my parents seemed ageless.  Always going, busy busy and always supportive and THERE.  It took years for me to notice they were getting older along with me.

My Mom’s health is on the decline now and I am not sure she is capable of getting better, physically or mentally.  Now let me preface this all by saying I realize I am lucky to have two parents still alive at my age.  Many people  aren’t.  Let me say next, I don’t think it makes it any easier for me to cope with these changes in life.  It’s hard to hear her get confused and then for her to tell me she’s kept it from me that she collapsed at home and her and Dad decided not to tell me.  I don’t know what kind of reaction I am supposed to have, I am over being angry, that gets me nowhere.  It weighs on my mind, thus the post to let it out, but I don’t think I know how to process any of this, how to accept this is how life goes sooner or later.

I think it’s the illusion of how things are ‘supposed’ to be that gets me the most messed up.   Like Mom is supposed to be there for my kids birthdays, for our weekly Tuesday night ritual, for the occasional paint night outting, and for her own birthday so my daughter can excitedly give her the card she made for her Grammy.  I try my best to live in the present, I am not sure how to keep my mind from racing to the next milestone and realize she might not be there for it.

So, in summary, growing up is hard.  Recently noted to be “overrated” by my best friend.  To me, this doesn’t mean it’s not worth it, but remembering the ease of sleeping in, having a late breakfast with my parents, being taken care of versus the caretaker are all now much more precious memories than before.


 

 

 

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