Twenty Something

The other day, my son told me a story which he found most amusing. An acquaintance of his turned eighteen. Amidst birthday congrats posted on her Facebook page from various friends, her mother added the comment, “Woo Hoo! I’m free! I’m free!”

I laughed out loud along with him, then I commented, “But you know, we’re never really free. We’ll always be ‘the mom’ (or dad).”

Then I started thinking about how our parenting role keeps changing over time. With the changes getting more dramatic as our kids age. Lately I’ve been freaking out about the fact that very soon I won’t be a “…freelance writing, happily married mom of two teens.” It’s not the “freelance writing, happily married” part, but the changing “mom of two teens” part that’s causing the freak.

I believe I’ve mentioned in the past that my daughter’s birthday is on Christmas Day. My due date back in 1991 was December 16th, and as it got further and further into December without our unborn child even hinting at a debut, I remember I started praying. “Okay God, please make it any day but Christmas. Any day but Christmas. Any day but Christmas…”

Yeah, well.

If anyone out there doesn’t think God has a sense of humor, I can assure you he was most likely laughing uproariously when he had our little package delivered (Sorry honey, couldn’t resist the pun!) at 10:47 a.m. Christmas morning. I’m sure he was like, “Puh-leeeze! Your names are Chris & Holly! What other day would I have your sweet baby girl arrive!”

But I digress; it’s not her birth story that’s causing me to freak either. It’s the year. Our sweet, baby girl is turning TWENTY!

Two decades.
Four quinquennials.
One-fifth of a Century.

How can I be the parent of a twenty-year old!

Part of the problem is that although in “real life” I’m 49 years old, inside the imaginary world in which I dwell, I’m a super-cool twenty something. My body knows it’s 49 as evidenced by my annoying knee twinges, plantar fasciitis, biceps tendonitis, blah, blah, blah. But in my head I only graduated from college a few years ago.

I’m not the only one who thinks like this, am I?

It’s like, all this stuff keeps happening that logically I should know is going to happen, and yet, always seems to catch me by surprise.

Like when our oldest graduated from high school and went off to college. Or when our youngest began learning to drive.

And now this. In ten days I’ll no longer be a mother of teens. My role is changing. Again.

Sigh.

But time waits for no man, or mom. So I must press on. And in so doing, I come to the truly important part of this post. What am I supposed to do with my bio on here? Since I can no longer refer to myself as a “mom of two teens,” what am I? I don’t even know how to explain myself anymore. The mom of a twenty and teen? A mom of kids who are bigger than I am? Help me out here, people. Any suggestions?



Image by: baileyraeweaver

3 comments:

Nancy said...

This is such a cute story. I have no suggestions about what to call yourself. Good luck with that.

I know what you mean about not feeling your age. I think like about a fifty-something person and I look in the mirror and see an old lady. That isn't the real me. The real me is trapped inside somewhere. It's a dilemma all right.

TeresaR said...

You are definitely not alone: I still think I'm some hot chick in my early 20s...until I bend down to pick something off the floor: then my back creaks and I make moaning noises. Moaning noises?! Oy. I used to be able to do the splits...

As for your bio...sorry...I can't even think of a good one for myself. LOL!

Annette Piper said...

As I am only the parent of 1 teen and 2 tweens, I have no idea where you go now... but I might learn from you in the future!?

My girls were born on New Year's Day - no sense of humour there, I assure you, as my waters broke at 3am, minutes after husband staggered in the door and was comatose from partying with friends.... I had my first contraction hanging off the nice (but terrified) security guard at the hospital and made my way with his help to the birthing suite dodging mostly drunk men with broken arms, black eyes and other assorted ailments from New Years Eve events. Husband turned up about 8am (still a couple of hours before the birth thankfully) looking very sheepish and was told to stay out of the way and not be sick by the nurse...

Ahhhh.... memories!

Merry Christmas Holly :D