My son gets up and dresses daily. He hardly ever forgets his pearls. I love he wears these and his Romeos and runs around outside such attired, not batting an eye.
I’m blue. A bit. My children have increasingly independent lives. YES I KNOW, this is the supposed point of parenthood, right? I mean here I am often talking about how wonderfully the kids are growing up and how amazing it is to watch them -
So yeah, I should be glad they’re out with their grandma, or gardening, or visiting, or buying groceries, or playing at parks, or bike-riding, or playing at the railroad tracks to the tune of FILTHY clothes, or making dates with other people (Nels is currently, at 10 PM, off having a movie night with a friend – after a day spent with a series of other friends), or rolling around with cats outside, or buying candy cigarettes or whatever. Life is as it should be if they only come home during the day to wash up and eat, and in the late evening to get their baths and cuddle.
And yet. I miss them. I am having a hard time letting them go. I do let them go, but I feel uneasy during my day. Like I’m supposed to be doing more, working harder, than I am. Like I’m still stuck in their toddlerhood, which was hard on me because I overworked. Despite the kids being super-happy and figuring their shit out just fine I’m sad or anxious. And let’s face it, a little self-absorbed. Because I let my kids go out and about during school hours and many parents don’t let their kids out and about with so much freedom, so yeah sometimes I wonder if they neighbors think I’m a Bad Mom.
Will I ever, ever, ever be free of the drumbeat of Mommy-shaming in our culture? UGH.
I seriously need to practice my mantra until it is deeply, deeply cemented in my heart:
& here’s a sneak preview of my next item – which should be finished tomorrow.