Feeling Momish - a real life experience
Once upon a time when I was younger and smarter, I told my little sister she could have my kids because I was sure I didn't have patience for children. So she did. Well, at least that's our family story, and I'm sticking with it. I have four adorable nieces and no regrets.
When the oldest adorable was eleven or so my little sister called me in the middle of the day, two states away and sounding tired. Really tired.
"Talk to me." She said. So I told her about my day and how gorgeous the weather was where I was. She listened, and commented, and then told me, "Thanks. I just needed to talk to an adult for a little bit." The memory still makes me smile.
Today, though, it's a little bittersweet. The girl who didn't want kids and never had them is now an adult taking care of her aging grandparents. This is a full time job, like parenting, except I can't throw these "kids" in the car when I've forgotten something at the store and I can't punish them for bad behavior. On the days when they make no sense, I can only reorient them over and over and hope tomorrow will be a better day.
After a night of explaining to Grandma every time she wakes up that she is home, this is her bed, and no one is taking us anywhere, I just want to talk to a rational adult. One who isn't delusional, won't forget what I said two minutes later, and who I won't have to worry about walking out the front door on her way "home".
I think I'll call my sister.
When the oldest adorable was eleven or so my little sister called me in the middle of the day, two states away and sounding tired. Really tired.
"Talk to me." She said. So I told her about my day and how gorgeous the weather was where I was. She listened, and commented, and then told me, "Thanks. I just needed to talk to an adult for a little bit." The memory still makes me smile.
Today, though, it's a little bittersweet. The girl who didn't want kids and never had them is now an adult taking care of her aging grandparents. This is a full time job, like parenting, except I can't throw these "kids" in the car when I've forgotten something at the store and I can't punish them for bad behavior. On the days when they make no sense, I can only reorient them over and over and hope tomorrow will be a better day.
After a night of explaining to Grandma every time she wakes up that she is home, this is her bed, and no one is taking us anywhere, I just want to talk to a rational adult. One who isn't delusional, won't forget what I said two minutes later, and who I won't have to worry about walking out the front door on her way "home".
I think I'll call my sister.