I’ve been musing a lot lately about motherhood. Particularly about myself as a mother and how much I’ve changed from my first child to my last child. I’ve been pondering the right balance of over protective, let them learn from their mistakes, lots of advice and too lazy. A couple of things have brought on this self reflection.
First, my younger sister is due to have a baby in a few weeks. I am the oldest of four girls. The second oldest is the one pregnant. What’s so funny? Interesting? I’m not sure how describe the situation, is that she’s kind of doing a repeat performance of me two years ago. Two years ago I had a 11 year old and a 9 year old. My husband and I were enjoying the experience of having older children and all that we could do as a family. We were happy with two children. We had out grown our younger ideas of a bigger family and realized life was good. We were doing everything to avoid getting pregnant, except one of us having surgery. I was 34 and my youngest was 10. I was happy having my kids when I was younger and I never wanted a huge gap in their ages. (Everyone has their own experiences, but for me having my kids in my 20’s was how I planned it, I wanted to be done being pregnant by my 30’s. I’m not saying one way is better than the other, I’m just commenting on my own experiences.) Of course it’s when you get the most comfortable that life throws the unexpected at you.
My husband gets embarrassed when I say this, but I don’t really care, it’s how I think of it, I call it our “swear in the bathroom pregnancy.” When the stick turned blue and I said, “Shit.” Then I bought three more tests to be sure. Next, I told my husband.
His response was, “Is there a way I’m supposed to react?”
I told him, “No, you can swear, I did.”
So, ten years after our daughter and twelve after our first son we were starting over. This time I was in the at risk category because I would turn 35 a month before he was due. I was old this time and felt it.
Well, here it is 2 years later and my 34 year old sister called me this fall and said,”Guess what? I’m pregnant and we weren’t trying either. Maybe it’s a family thing to be really fertile at 34.”
She turned 35 during this pregnancy too and she had about the same due date I had. Strange, or maybe not, maybe I don’t know some medical reason women get fertile about this age, one last ditch effort by our bodies before time runs out. Let me know if there is, otherwise I’m sticking with the family curse and warning the other two sisters.
Her gap between kids isn’t quite as big as mine, but it’s still significant. It’s just such a strange experience having my kids spread out so far and doing things all over again. Sometimes it’s easier, because I’m older and wiser. Sometimes it’s harder because I’m older and so done with it all. This brings me to two other experiences that induced my deep thinking.
First, was playing hockey with my 14 year old. Once a week I play roller hockey in a recreation league with my oldest. It’s one of the highlights of my week. I can’t wait until my daughter is old enough to join us. Her skills are good enough, she’s just too little. We’re not on a very good team, but we’re together, doing something I love. Last week we lost big time, however we scored one goal. That goal just happened to be a pass from mother to son for the score. My hope is that someday this will be as memorable to him as it is to me. This is one of the benefits of having kids when I was in my 20’s, being able to mostly keep up with them in their teens. I thought about my toddler, when he’s 14 I’ll be in my 50’s. I still plan on playing hockey of course, I just don’t think it will be the same.
The last event happened at the park Saturday. My youngest was climbing on the playground equipment, while his sister’s soccer team warmed up. He was climbing a ladder and I just stood back and watched. It wasn’t tall and I was close, but I wasn’t hovering right behind him. I remember when my oldest first explored a park. I used to follow him around “spotting” him. I’d let him try things, but I was always right there in case he slipped or fell. I don’t feel the same need to hover with my youngest.
In fact on the same trip to the park he tripped and I discovered myself saying,”That’s okay, everybody falls sometimes.”
He got right back up smiled, brushed his hands off and played some more.
I distinctly remember rushing over to my firstborn on such instances gushing,”Are you okay? Are you hurt?” And him bursting into tears.
That’s what’s nice about being an older, more experienced parent, I know it’s okay to sit back, watch and let things happen. It’s true, everybody falls sometimes and often it’s no big deal.
So, which is better, being a young, active mother with more energy, but less experience? Or being an older, wiser mom with less energy who sometimes lets things go? I’m not sure, but I’m feeling sort of lucky as I realize I get to be both. I get the best of both worlds. In fact as I sat in the Jumpolene in my in-laws backyard yesterday singing songs with my toddler I realized that because of the ten year gap all of my kids get some benefits. The first one got attention because he was the oldest, the middle got different attention because she was a girl and the youngest gets everyones attention because he’s so far behind the rest. Motherhood, never what I expected, usually more to learn, always an adventure.
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