I pick up my 6 year old from kindergarten each day and sometimes I chat with the other mothers doing the same. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel that if I hear one more conversation about being pregnant, nursing newborns or changing diapers I’m just going to scream.
I’ve been there before. I’m not there anymore.
My youngest is 6. Not my oldest, my baby. I am not having more kids. These other parents… their 6 year olds are their oldest. They have younger kids. They might even have more kids in the future.
So sometimes I just sit there and don’t talk to anyone, because they aren’t in my parenting generation.
I started late. I didn’t meet my husband until I was 30. I didn’t have my first child until I was 34. Three kids later I am considered an “old” Mom at 45. All the other mother’s around me at school are in their 20’s and 30’s. I feel like a fish out of water. A dead fish.
I’ve moved on in my child rearing. I’m now into boyfriends and puberty and “get togethers” instead of “play dates”. Birthday lists are full of cell phones and computers and clothes and sunglasses. I don’t own a sippy cup or a binkie or a diaper genie. The playpen, crib and bouncy seat are history. I no longer have to lug three carseats to the dealerships to see if they will fit in a new car we want to buy.
I feel out of my element. I was a champion at breastfeeding and changing diapers. Now I feel like the kid on the playground who doesn’t get chosen for the team. I was unprepared for this.
Don’t get me wrong… there is no way I want to start all over again with another baby. I’m happy with the three I have. I don’t want to go back to babyhood, but who am I as a mother without a baby?
When my youngest graduates high school I will be 57. That’s grandma age. My older friends will be having grandchildren. My younger friends will… well… still be young. And I’m stuck in the middle. Just an old parent.
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