shrivel and prune – words that, in my humble opinion, should never be used in conjunction with a perimenopausal woman’s uterus. but that’s exactly how my doctor was describing the current state of my reproductive system. the whole time she was gesticulating the fluctuations of my hormone levels, it was like she was congratulating on me some major achievement. but as i sat at the traffic light outside the doctor’s building, all i could think was, “well isn’t that just great…i am now biologically obsolete.”
it was about this time that kelsey had started her senior year in highschool. i could already feel a shift taking place. my daughter was becoming much more independent and she didn’t need my help as much. plus i could already kind see down the pike. so much of the stuff that i did that made me mom – eighteen years of laundry, cooking, class projects, “is your homework done?”, “did you clean your room?”, vocal concerts, musicals, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, ponytail holders, “have you seen my phone?” – all the stuff that i did that made me a mom would no longer needed.
regardless of what i do for a living (my occupation), all i ever really wanted in life was to be a wife and a mother. i felt as if it was my calling (my vocation). motherhood for me was so fulfilling, so gratifying. i learned so much about myself and was challenged to do things i could have never dreamed were possible.
and then there was the fact that my daughter had always been such a wonderful, delightful child. we had always shared a close relationship so watching her grow into the strong, confident woman she had become was incredibly rewarding. but i knew this particular chapter of my life was coming to and end, and very soon this beautiful child of mine would be packing up her stuff and heading off to college. and truth was that i was profoundly sad about.
looking back, i can see now where this was the was the start of my unraveling. the beginning of my mid-life crisis. feeling too old to be useful, but yet not ready to be put out to pasture.
i wish so much that i could go back to this poor girl and give her a hug. tell her how everything is going to be ok. NO! better than she could have ever imagined. how full and wonderful life could be. how much joy and peace she would come to know.
but i can’t. because if i told her how painful the journey to get there would be, she might not have ever gone on it.
from the archives~