The Ninth Inning of Parenting
Right before my son began high school, it dawned on me that I had been a mother for more years than I had not been a mother. I knew that the time my kids would need my hands-on mothering was quickly drawing to a close.
Back when I was 20 and my oldest daughter was a newborn, I was a bright-eyed rookie marveling at this new role of mother. I recall saying “my daughter” and having it sound so fantastically novel. Ten years later, hearing myself utter the words “my son” also sounded peculiar to me after 10 years of mothering two girls, but I was still so eager to learn all I could, firmly implanted in the batter’s box.
As my youngest reached his teen years, I realized for the first time that my mothering would be taking a backseat to my life, a realization that felt bizarre, honestly.
For over 20 years, I proudly wore the uniform with a capital MOM on the back.
It was my heyday, collecting runs in the form of sweet milestones, homers made up of achievements, and grand slam memories of laughs and love.
Of course, I was also a daughter, writer and editor, friend and dog owner, but my daily schedule revolved around when I had to drop off or pick up kids, take them to a doctor or a practice, or help…
