I always thought that I would be a cool mom, you know the kind----the kids like her, she isn't embarrassing, she doesn't dance while she makes breakfast, and
her kids think she is cool. Yeah, I was delusional! Good to know that I am consistent.
You try to get pregnant or maybe you don't, your body plays host to a little tyrant--- I had heartburn for nine months, stretch marks, leaky breasts, sleepless nights----then comes the birth! I labored with resident teenager for 5 days, then finally, they look him by c-section. Then you conquer breast feeding... Yowza. You look at their little faces, cry over them, watch them sleep, change endless diapers, kiss owies, it seems like you will never sleep again. You bare all of this because you love them with a fierce love, a mother's love---unconditional. Then the teenage years creep up and you realize... your sweet bundle turned into an alien.
See,
if I was a cool mom, it wouldn't bother me because cool moms let these things roll off their back. What am I rambling about?
I make the Boys breakfast every Sunday morning, old fashioned-sit down-eat together-breakfast. While cooking I give The Hubs a kiss, and I kiss resident little dude on the forehead......
Me: Can I give you a kiss on the cheek? (I ask him because he doesn't appreciate sneak attacks)
Resident Teenager: NO! (with that teenage tone that screams,
You Are An Idiot!)
Enter my not cool mom moment. To my credit I just go back to cooking and choke back my tears---cool moms don't bawl when their kids are toads, they take it in stride. I make chit chat while finishing breakfast---because I am trying to be cool. I sit down to eat my breakfast and silent tears start to roll down my cheeks, at least they are silent tears, not full body crying---not cool. Resident teenager doesn't notice because he is busy scarfing bacon. The Hubs gives my knee a squeeze under the table---he notices. Little dude flashes me a greasy bacon face smile---he notices.
I started to realize in that moment... I am not a cool mom. I am an over involved, do anything, walk through fire, fight the good fight, unconditional love kind of mom. The kind that suffers silent tears over breakfast, the kind that serves her kids breakfast first, the kind that worries endlessly about being a good mom---
I rocked resident teenager to sleep every night of his life until he was three. I had every vein in his little eyelids memorized.
Now he is a surly alien... at times unrecognizable as my boy. When I close my eyes I see his jam covered face, curly blonde baby fro, chubby face, and I see every vein in his eyelids. When I open them he rolls his eyes, exhales that teenage exhale (they don't need to speak, teenage short hand covers all of their emotions), and doesn't want a motherly kiss on the cheek.
Friends tell me that he will become my boy again when he is about 19... 5 years... I make a mental note of this. I close my eyes and day dream...
My boy is an alien... and I am not a cool mom...
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2008 |