Motherhood in Menopause

I was never one of those little girls that dreamed of her wedding and having children. I never discounted it; I just didn't think about it. When I found out I was pregnant the first time, I was pleasantly shocked. I thought, "this seems right". I loved being a mom, and I couldn't wait to do it again. Fast forward through a divorce, a remarriage, and to the eagerly waiting to get pregnant with the new husband. I knew I wanted it. I knew what to do. I had a good marriage. I was not prepared.

We moved out of my "after divorce little house" to the dream fixer-upper. We were there for one week, and quickly realized we were in over our heads. We had booked a vacation to California months before we found a house, and we figured, what the hell, so what if we have a lot of work to do in our new house, let's keep our vacation plans. California was great fun and we left our oldest to spend an extra two weeks with the grandparents. We figured we could a lot of work done while she was gone. Little did we know that I would have our bundle of joy just one day after returning. He was three months early.

Now this story is a very long story, so I will save most of it for later. What I have to express right now is what is going on right now with this miracle child.

Motherhood is a battlefield. I always thought if I could just get this kid through "fill in the blank", he will have a full life. How could I have forgotten what it is like to raise a teenager? There is irony in that question. I teach teenagers all day in a high school. This child struggles. This child is sad. This child has no hope.

This child is mine. I will be his champion, but not at the cost of him learning a lesson. I will let him fail, but not fail miserably. I will listen to him tell me things that are difficult to hear, but I will not condone his bad choices. I will tell him that he really is smart, but I will not falsely tell him he can do anything. I will worry about him for the rest of my life.

Bottom line: he is smart, funny, irreverent, handsome, naturally lucky, likable (when he wants to be), and really does care. He's a teenager. His bad luck is that he is going through this time while his mother is peri-menopausal. I cry anytime I talk to one of his teachers or counselors. I cry when his dad and I talk about him privately. I cry in the car on the way home from work. I cry when I'm proud of him. I cry when his behavior is less than desirable. I cry. But I try not to let him see my cry about him. Just like any man, he cannot abide to see his mother cry. It's funny, I have never really been a cryer before, but apparently my 50s will be spent with a glass of wine in one hand and a Kleenex in the other. Ah, motherhood and menopause. I didn't sign up for this.