Lucky 13
My daughter turned 13 the other day. A big day for her: she's a teenager! And a big day for me: I am now officially the mother of a teenager!
That last exclamation point was placed reluctantly.
I wonder, if I were a younger mom, if this would be a time of reflection/whining about how old I'm getting. But hey, Sophia is adopted. I was old when I got her. Old is not an issue for us- it's always been the status quo. "Mom, wanna play basketball?" "Bug off, kid, I'm old." And it's worked out well for us. So far I have had no sports-related injuries. Sophia's had a few. of course, but hey, she's the one who wants to play basketball, not me.
Another very nice thing about being an older mom: most of my friends are ten to fifteen years younger than me. This has also worked out well. In questions of things like marriage, I'm something of a grande dame among my buddies. "You're afraid his company is going under? Been there, done that. Come on, kid, let me buy you a cappuccino."
While in questions of mom- hood, I'm the clueless one, and my far more experienced albeit annoyingly younger friends are there to guide me. "OMG I THINK SHE HAS BUGS UNDER HER SKIN!!!!...What? 'Chiggers?' From the lake?..... Clear nail polish and they'll suffocate. Gotcha. Okay, I'm all right now."
If God had told me on my wedding day that:
I wouldn't have a child for another 20 years, and that I would end up raising her in the frozen Upper Midwest--
well, let's just say you would not have heard "What a great plan! God , You're a genius!"
But of all the ridiculous, outlandish, bizarro plans in the world, this is the one that works for me.
I hat to admit it, God, but You're a genius.
That last exclamation point was placed reluctantly.
I wonder, if I were a younger mom, if this would be a time of reflection/whining about how old I'm getting. But hey, Sophia is adopted. I was old when I got her. Old is not an issue for us- it's always been the status quo. "Mom, wanna play basketball?" "Bug off, kid, I'm old." And it's worked out well for us. So far I have had no sports-related injuries. Sophia's had a few. of course, but hey, she's the one who wants to play basketball, not me.
Another very nice thing about being an older mom: most of my friends are ten to fifteen years younger than me. This has also worked out well. In questions of things like marriage, I'm something of a grande dame among my buddies. "You're afraid his company is going under? Been there, done that. Come on, kid, let me buy you a cappuccino."
While in questions of mom- hood, I'm the clueless one, and my far more experienced albeit annoyingly younger friends are there to guide me. "OMG I THINK SHE HAS BUGS UNDER HER SKIN!!!!...What? 'Chiggers?' From the lake?..... Clear nail polish and they'll suffocate. Gotcha. Okay, I'm all right now."
If God had told me on my wedding day that:
I wouldn't have a child for another 20 years, and that I would end up raising her in the frozen Upper Midwest--
well, let's just say you would not have heard "What a great plan! God , You're a genius!"
But of all the ridiculous, outlandish, bizarro plans in the world, this is the one that works for me.
I hat to admit it, God, but You're a genius.
Love this post, Susan!
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