Still a Teenage Mom
I am a college graduate, a published writer, a happily married woman, and a mom to 3 terrific girls. I live in the western suburbs of Chicago, I have a decent social life, and I have a moderate amount of online influence. But when I tell someone my children’s ages — well, the age of my eldest, I feel sooooooo miniscule.
The framework of the dialogue is always the same. Small talk with a stranger at a park or a grocery store, leads to a chat about the unquestionably rewarding, yet uphill battle of parenting.
Stranger: How many kids do you have?
Me: Three girls
Stranger: All girls!?
Me: *insert exhausted grin* Yep
Stranger: How old?
Me: *mild embarrassment* 3, 4, and almost 14
Stranger: 14!? How old are you?
Me: I’m 31, *recites rehearsed light hearted response*, she is the child of my youth *forced smile*
Then, I proceed to rattle off her achievements, National Honor Society, natural athlete, artist with pieces sold at auction, talented writer, so on and so forth. See. I keep talking until I stop feeling like the 17 year old girl who’s swollen belly couldn’t fit behind the desk of the Honors English IV class at Thornton Fractional North High. I keep speaking, pass the memory of being a young mom lugging a diaper bag, a book bag, a stroller, and a baby onto the Roosevelt CTA bus in the frost of Chicago winter, as a commuter freshman at UIC. I refuse to stop babbling until they know I have done well with her, despite being a statistic. If I am speaking to a woman, which I usually am, she nods politely — and she sees me. She sees a little girl, who has had her towel snatched away in the locker room. She sees me exposed and frantically fighting to cover myself.
Then someone changes the subject, to both of our relief, and the day goes on. And the worst part about it, is that it will never end. No matter how old I am, and how old she is, it will be easy math. One day those conversations will evolve into, “you’re too young to be a grandparent”. By then, I’ll have an arsenal of accomplishments to roll out on them! If I were naïve I would say, I will have grown beyond my justification script. But will I?
Will I ever be comfortable with their shocked face — masked or not — the puzzled look, or my favorite — their obvious embarrassment for me? Oh, and then there are the times they tell me about a teen mom they know — their best friends’ sister’s daughter. Sometimes, he/she will express that they are impressed — my making lemons out of lemonade and what not. Which doesn’t aid my struggle in the slightest. I have been affirmed a million times. But what I hate is, that I need the affirmation.
But honestly, these days, it goes in one ear and out the next. Because I have affirmed myself offensively before it is even their turn to speak again.
No neat bow to tie here, folks.
Just a moment of transparency.
What are you insecure about?
