P90X or PB&J

I was at the park the other day with a bunch of moms and their children from my town. I am, undoubtedly, the oldest of our group. I realize that our ages make little difference. We mostly talk about our kids. We watch them interact. We bond over parenting trials and triumphs. The differences in our children’s ages seems more apparent than our own ages. At least from my perspective. The other mom’s could totally be thinking, “Who is this old lady?” Lol. But, Ok. I digress.

So we are at the park and someone brings up some work out DVD. I was going to write video, but that really glorifies my age. It may not even be a DVD, but some type of “on demand” thing you can subscribe to. You, by now, are getting the idea that I have no clue or interest in any kind of P90 X, Y or Z. Someone brought up the 30 day diet or challenge or fix… or something. Again, I have no clue about anything paleo, Atkins or Zone. I had to actually google “diets” to find those. Did you know there is something actually called the Taco Diet? You literally only eat tacos for thirty days. That’s insane.

When I was younger (in my 20’s and 30’s) I was a vegetarian. When I turned 40 I started incorporating meat into my diet. Not a crazy amount, but I realized I really liked a good steak every now and then. I ate clean. Healthy. Fast forward to present day, 47 year old me. I’m on the PB&J Crust diet. It’s when you eat the remnants of your child’s meals to stave off hunger, or, let’s be honest, just because it’s there. My breakfast intake yesterday consisted of 1 spoonful of yogurt, 1 peanut butter covered slice of banana, and a morsel of spinach banana muffin. All from the picked over plate of my son. My lunch was the diet’s namesake, a PB&J crust, plus 1/4 of his unfinished sandwich and a handful of graham bunnies. Delicious. No wonder I eat all Willy Nilly the rest of the day. Now this isn’t everyday. There are days when I am actually conscious when parenting and make myself egg whites and avocado. But some days it’s like I am in a trance and what happens between my hand and my mouth is all but a blur.

Now I can tell you for a fact that my younger self would have never let herself eat so poorly. She would have never let herself gain 5 0r 10 pounds. It just would not have happened. But as I age and I don’t have to think about wearing costumes onstage now, I am way more relaxed about what I eat and, in turn, I am more relaxed about what I look like. I think there will be a limit to my madness. (Like I’m pretty much there.) But I can’t imagine myself being crazed to be thin, like I was when I was younger. I remember believing my worth was directly correlated to my appearance. I suppose, in my line of work, there may have been some truth to that. But I think I took it further than just work, especially when I was 20 & 30. I think I believed that I was lesser than if I wasn’t aesthetically at my best. Ah, youth! This 47 year old feels sorry for that silly girl.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to be healthy. And power to any mom who gets herself to the gym! I admire anyone striving to get back their pre baby body. But I gotta be honest, being over forty puts you at a big disadvantage. Recovery from anything takes so much longer, let alone pregnancy and childbirth. Ugh. This PB&J Crust Diet is all fad and will have to go, for sure. But as long as my clothes fit (cause I LOVE my clothes) I don’t mind too much if I’m a bit softer. Well, a lot softer. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and it clearly isn’t correlated to my appearance these days. I guess it just means that my mind is the healthiest it’s ever been. And I’ll take that.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight. And remember behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks so much for reading! Xoxo

Back In The Saddle

Well, hello! It has been quite a while, friend. My hiatus from writing just might be over. I have taken a long enough pause to re-group my thoughts, to step away from the rage inspired by ridiculous politics, and to muster the courage to feel that, somehow, perhaps, my words might actually matter. It has been a long needed respite. If you have stayed with me through this nothingness, I’m truly grateful. I couldn’t expect it of any reader. If you are new to my musings, I invite you to go back to the beginning. Take the journey which will lead you to where we are now – an advanced maternal age mother (now of three years) navigating her way through preschool pandemonium. I have matured in my mothering, but the certainty of it all still eludes me. I feel I am now wise enough to know the uncertainty will most likely never go away.

I have not stopped thinking about writing. It has always been at the forefront of my thoughts this past however many months. I’d have to go way back to see exactly how long it has actually been since my last post, but I think it was last May. Even before that, my posts were becoming few and far between. After a gut wrenching election cycle, the state of our nation was really getting me down. It felt like I couldn’t not make every post about something political. That isn’t what I had set out to do. Also, I began teaching voice and acting at a fantastic arts academy. It takes up quite a bit of time for prep work. Time I used to use to write. The teaching has now expanded, which is brilliant, but again, I only have so much time. I chose to let this go for a while. Did I mention that I have matured and realize that I can’t actually do Everything?

I feel ready to give voice to this next phase of motherhood, however tight my time may be. My little O is no longer a baby. (That is super hard to say!) He is 3 1/2 years old. He is tall and full of personality. He has the energy of the Energizer Bunny and the mood swings of Sybil. He is funny, emotional, and all over the place. He is imperfectly perfect. I don’t want to miss chronicling this time in our lives because I am crunched for time or because I get lazy. This blog is ultimately for him. So here I am. Back in the saddle.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight. Remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. My current life story! Lol. Thanks for reading. Xo

Merry Christmas Mommy

I stepped away from my writing for a while. To be more accurate, I stepped away from trying to make sense of my thoughts. My aging mother is ill and my beautiful 2 year old son is thriving. It only makes sense (in my senseless reality) that it be Christmas time. The time of year that proves to be, both the most wonderful time of the year for some, and the hardest for so many others. For me, this year, it seems I am in between; stuck somewhere in the middle of joy and pain.

I have decorated the house. I have wrapped almost every gift in coordinating paper, ribbons and tags. I have fresh evergreens in every available vase. I even made a traditional German cookie house like I used to make with my Mother each Christmas. Our tree is a true sight of beauty, filled with memories for both me and my husband. We are like kids ourselves picking gifts for Santa to bring little O. We teach him Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and delight in his toddler versions. Seeing Christmas through his little eyes is the closest thing to magic and it is wonderful.

In another part of my mind, there are lists of things that need to be done for my mother’s care. There is worry about her safety and that of my father’s, as well. There is guilt that I live four hours away. There is a sadness I have never known. I miss her so much. There is also a fear of what is yet to come. Will I be strong enough? Will I come out the other side intact? Will the hole that is growing in my heart ever mend?

How can I exist in this dichotomy of circumstances and feelings? I have often thought about how having my son so late in the game means O having grandparents who are much older. They aren’t who they were 10 years ago, let alone 20 years ago when most women my age were having children. I am so grateful that he knows them and has a relationship with them, but I don’t know he will remember them as I know them. By the time he is able to, it is possible my mother won’t even know him. I suppose it is pointless to obsess or worry about scenarios I have no control over. But the sadness in it stays with me.

Perhaps it is true that God only gives you what you can handle. Maybe he knew, in his Divine providence, that I would need the joyful focus of raising a child to keep me sane while my mother slowly slips away. I don’t know. But it makes a lot of sense to me. Funny, right about now, the only thing that truly makes sense other than my little nucleus family, is God. Who’d a thunk? I guess it all began with a child, so of course, it makes sense a child could get me through the tough stuff. With that I say Merry Christmas, my friends. I wish you much joy this season, and always.

Remember, behind every great kid, is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. She might also be depending on the magic of Christmas more than you know. Thanks for reading. Xo

Back 2 School

As the end of summer approaches and the days become shorter, my Facebook feed is overflowing with posts rejoicing in the fact that children are finally heading back to school. There seems to be a collective sigh of relief among mothers of school age children, as if the school year couldn’t start soon enough. As a first time mom of a two year old, I am not there yet. The back to school fervor is obviously not on my radar. But it makes me wonder what it’s all about.

I am sure there are mothers out there, who adore having their children home with them for the summer. I just haven’t caught their posts about it. Maybe they are too busy making homemade organic Popsicles to spend time on Facebook? I mean, there are moms who enjoy their summers with their kids at home, right? When I was growing up, my Mom always looked at Summer as magical. Didn’t she? At least she seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps even loved it. There is no denying that it was a different time then. The world was a simpler place just some thirty years ago. I’d like to hold onto my illusion that my mom actually enjoyed having us out of school for the summer. When I think about it, most of the neighborhood kids would spend summer days at our house because we had a pool. My mom would essentially be the den mother to all the kids on our street. There was never a complaint from the other mothers. Huh, that’s not surprising. I think the back to school sigh of relief was around back then as well. I also surmise that my mother was a rarity among her friends.

The thought of sending my O to school for full seven hour days at the age of five, sends my head into a spin. And then I hear moms of older children talking about the failing education system and lack of emphasis on the children being active, and it makes me want to homeschool our guy. I want to take him away to some Nordic country and have him schooled there where they play outside for hours each day. When did the idea of learning through play become invalid? Maybe this is why some parents seek out Montessori schools? Maybe regular public schools are mostly a type of glorified government daycare? They shove them through, make sure they pass a specific state test, and mind them for nine months out of twelve each year. Could that be true? And if it could be, don’t we want more for our children? Oye! I’m digressing.

I guess what I want to say is that I can’t imagine a time when I will want to send O away from us for seven hours a day. I understand the importance of doing so, but I can’t imagine liking it. But then again, I am a newbie. You seasoned moms are rolling your eyes at me about now, and that’s ok. I admit I don’t know what it will be like down the road. I just know that even now, when the days are tough, I don’t will them to pass any quicker. Time is going by fast enough, thank you very much.

I say it again and again. I feel that being an older mother gives me an advantage on contentment. I am not wishing the time away so that I can get back to my life. This is my life. I am living it. Perhaps it took me living so much of my life to know that this time is the best time. Every choice and action of my life has led me to this place and time. And I guess I am wise (and old) enough to be oh so grateful.

Until next time, remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading! Xo

Toddler Madness

There are certain days my patience runs thin. My son is approaching his second birthday. He is in the beginning of the throws of what I am calling toddler madness. This might prove to be the hardest period for us, as his communication skills are still sparse. He says words, yes. But his ability to actually convey specific wants is unhoned, especially the more frustrated he gets. My failure to understand him just adds to his frustration and before I know it, he is in full on the floor tantrum mode. There is no reason or logic to this. It is absolute madness. Hence, my categorical name for this period we are forging into full speed ahead.

Rationally, I know there is usually some reason for these outbursts. He most likely isn’t even aware himself what it might be. And the speculation is vast. It could be that he is hungry. Thirsty. Perhaps his two year molars are giving him a hard time that day. Maybe his shirt is uncomfortable. Maybe….the list goes on. Or, where the real madness comes in, the outburst has no cause. It is not the reaction to anything at all, except the moment hits him and he decides to throw himself on the floor, kick and scream a little, and then, perhaps, get on with his day. Come to think of it…I feel like doing that sometimes. Maybe it’s not so crazy, after all. Hmm.

My pediatrician suggests no parental reaction. She always says, “Don’t encourage any behavior you don’t like by reacting to it.” I’m actually pretty good at being calm in the midst of his storms. Most of the time. It’s the days when the outbursts are mixed with incessant whining, that tax me the most. It’s hard not to react to the whining, though I give it my best shot. At home, I actually walk into another room. I also redirect his attention when he is calm enough. It becomes the hardest to deal with in the car. Both of us trapped in a small space. I can only turn the Hamilton soundtrack up so much.

Mothers who’ve been there…mommys on the same battlefield, I ask you. What do YOU do? And if you had a child who never threw tantrums or whined, keep it to yourself. I don’t even want to know that children like that exist. There isn’t enough Skinny Pop or Two Buck Chuck to get me over that. Thanks. I know every kid is different, but there must be some common thread for how to proactively deal with this “stage of development.” My saving grace at this point is that I am, in fact, an older mom and I have a degree of patience I never would have had 20 years ago. I’m not saying younger Moms can’t have patience. I just know I didn’t have it when I was younger.

The most ironic thing about this stage of “toddler madness,” is how fleeting the madness can be. I can have a morning like today, where the crabby-ness, whining and foot stomping outbursts seemed to have such succession it almost became rhythmic. And then 20 minutes before his nap, my child decides to lovingly stop time. He sits next to me on the couch, lays his head on my shoulder and lets me stroke his hair. For a whole 20 minutes! He may have actually purred. Just when I was ready to give up for the day, he indulges me in his sweet side. Sneaky. Unpredictable. All part of the glorious wonderful madness that is only just beginning.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks so much for reading! Xo

The Way Of Life

I lost my Aunt Anneke this week. It wasn’t sudden. She was battling cancer for some time. But still, the finality of any passing startles me, nonetheless. I am grieving. Not so much for her, as I know she is pain free and was most certainly welcomed into heaven with open arms. She was a wonderful, strong, loving woman. Her full bodied, lasting hugs were her trademark that I will cherish in my memories of her. I am grieving for my uncle who was left here on this earth to do the unimaginable. To go on without her. It breaks my heart.

It’s funny that I should have such a bond with this man. He came into my life when I was in my twenties. He had been estranged from my mother and most of our family for all of my young life. His acute alcoholism kept him away from us for years. After he had gotten sober for good, he came back into our lives and I’m so grateful. Oh, the stories he would tell me over a cup of coffee at my parent’s dining room table! I just adore him despite the fact that we could not be more different. Our views on pretty much everything are diametrically opposed. Yup, everything. But his heart is true, his words are real, and he is just my Uncle Ronnie. The fact that he has a special place in his heart for my little O just makes me love him all the more. And now he is alone without his wife, his partner. It is the way of life. He would tell you that. But it is unthinkable.

The landscape of our family keeps changing. My parents, aunts and uncles are in their seventies and eighties. Several have passed already. Actual distance of siblings and cousins has created emotional distance, as well. It is what happens as you get older, I suppose. I guess I just wish it wasn’t happening quite this soon, for O’s sake. I rationalize, as an older mom, that my family is also older. But he is never going to know, or at least remember, many of the family I love. It is then, that which is understood in my head is not so accepted in my heart.

I don’t believe I actually have a point to make with all this. I think I just wanted to talk about my family. I appreciate you letting me do just that. I know this isn’t exactly one of my typical mommy blog posts. But then being a new mom at 46 isn’t exactly typical either. Having a child late in life comes with all sorts of pros and cons. It is so odd watching family become elderly (or succumb to age) while I witness all the newness my son experiences. It is the biggest bag of mixed emotions I’ve known yet. Immense joy colored with the occasional stroke of sadness and grief. I’m sure it is the way of life for most older moms. It was certainly something I didn’t think about before becoming a mother. I suppose, thank God there is the joy. Such joy!

Thank you for reading and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Xo

Depression: The Family Thief

Once again, I have crunched my way into avoidance. Anything to delay the writing. It’s funny, because tactics to avoid writing only come into play when the topic is of a difficult nature. This is not some “Aha!” moment for me. It’s pretty textbook, really. We tend to avoid the uncomfortable difficult conversations. My bowl of popcorn, dried peas and blue corn chips are pure proof of my discomfort. By the way, my snacks are organic so that means they are good for me, right? Yeah, didn’t think so…they are just less bad. Well, that’s something.

I’ve been harboring this topic for a while. I’m not even sure how I want to explore it. It is intensely personal. Painstakingly difficult and heartbreakingly close to me. I’m talking about depression. Now I’ve shared quite a lot about my bout with postpartum blues after I had O. What I’m talking about now is the depression I have lived with for as long as I can remember. I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about my mother. It certainly has affected me my whole life…but now, as a mother myself, it brings up a whole other set of feelings.

Depression has robbed my mother of so much in her lifetime. And that is sad enough. But it has stolen as much from those of us who love her, as well. And now it continues to steal from the relationship she could have with my son. If you have never seen someone through the darkness of depression you might not understand. She loves him, undeniably. And he is over the moon for his Oma. But her sickness keeps her from spending any real time with him. It keeps her hidden away in the darkness of her slumber instead of enjoying her grandson. It has taken all possibilities of joy from her, even when they are right in front of her. It would be easy to blame the person. But I know enough after all this time, it is the illness. And when medications cease to work, it is a deep dark place she goes to. To say my heart is heavy is an understatement.

I want O to know my mother. The mother that I know. The glimpses of the real her are few and far between these days. And the truth of the matter is, she is now elderly. Depression seems to wreak havoc on an older person’s body at an exponential pace. The less one does when they are older, the less they actually can do. Bones soften and muscles atrophy through lack of use. It’s tough to make a comeback at 79. Especially when there is no end to the darkness in sight. It is brutal. The reality is that O will have the memories he has, because he doesn’t know her any other way than the way she is now. But for the rest of us, it is hard. Especially for my father.

I am writing about this not just to express my personal upset, but to raise some awareness about depression and how it affects not just the afflicted, but the entire family. There are two types of depression that I am aware of. Circumstantial and chemical. The latter, as in my mother’s case, is the trickier to remedy. A person might find a medicine that works beautifully, but after time, it begins to lose its effect and depression can set back in. The dosage is usually increased and enhancers are added, which can make for some scary side effects. Or a new drug might be prescribed and the whole acclamation period starts again, sometimes only to find out the drug isn’t a good fit. Back to square one. I can see how a patient could be despondent about their recovery.

What I know is that depression can be genetic. It can run a cycle that affects generation after generation. My maternal grandmother, though I never knew her, was agoraphobic. Anxiety runs in my family. Anxiety untreated snowballs into depression. With all that I have learned about depression, I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow that path. The madness must stop with me. Parents pass on their anxiety to their children everyday. It is unconscious and usually the fallout doesn’t rear its ugly head until the child is in their teens. But it doesn’t have to be. Seek help early. As minor as your anxiety or depression might be. Seek help. If not for yourself, then for your family. If you suffer from circumstantial depression (divorce, job loss, death of a loved one)…seek help. Your family needs you. You have a spouse, a son or daughter, a grandchild who needs YOU.

I always say that things happen the way they are supposed to. I’ve always been a believer of “If it is meant to be, then it will be.” My life is a testament to that adage. I was certainly lucky enough to have my child at the age of 44. But what I never thought of was how old my parents would be when I had him. (That’s a whole other post.). So let me finish up by saying I miss my mother. There are days when I need her more than she could ever fathom. There are days when I need her guidance and parenting wisdom. There are days when I just need to hear her tell me she loves me. To know that she is here, yet not really here, is just cruel and breaks my heart. Everyday.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thank you so much for reading. Xoxo

Here It Comes

Well, there is snow on the skylight. I’m under a faux fur blanket and my luxurious long underwear are certainly getting some “wear time.” I’ve been avoiding writing this post, like I do many…but this one in particular seems to be my hardest thus far. You see, I’d like to lie to you. I’d like to fill the screen with fibs and fantasy. But that wasn’t our agreement. No. I promised to honestly examine what it is like to be a new mother of advanced maternal age. So here it goes….or should I say, here it comes?

No one really wants to talk about it. Certainly not me. How I have escaped it up til now, I don’t know. Some women deal with it much earlier, so I’m thankful at least for that. Oh, God, Mary, just say it! Ok! Ok! Perimenopause. There I’ve said it. In simpler terms it means the beginning of “the change.” Right now all it means to me is night sweats at certain times of the month. Icky, cruddy, soaking pajama top night sweats. Night sweats suck. Just getting that out there. But for some it can include many more symptoms like daily hot flashes, loss of sex drive, pain during intercourse…among other fun things. Ugh. Good times, eh?

I am actually having a difficult time accepting this upcoming change in my body. I don’t like it. My doctor says I can still get pregnant, so that isn’t what is bothering me. It’s just the fact that finally my body is telling me that I am getting older. I always felt like I could defy it, at least within reason. But this onset can’t be avoided with clean eating, more crunches at the gym, or more miles logged on the treadmill. It can’t be hidden by creams, serums, or Botox. It’s the real deal. It’s the beginning of a bridge taking you to the next phase of your life. As much as I talk about wanting to age gracefully, I feel like I’m on the one side of that bridge….resisting going forward….but the bridge is actually a moving walkway…it doesn’t stop because I wish it so. It is just like Time always proves to be…relentless. There is no spanner to throw in this wheel to stop it spinning. It is all how nature intended. I just thought Mother Nature and I had a special understanding. Ha.

Yesterday at story time at our local library I looked around at the other adults in the room. It was either young moms or youngish grandmothers. It occurred to me that I fall somewhere in between these groups of women. I made friends with some of the moms, and realized that, although we can relate through our children, I can’t actually relate to them on a personal level. Not really. And the same goes for the older women there. I find myself on my own plane. Running after my toddler waiting for a hot flash to zap me. It’s bizzaro world. Does that make any sense?

I know, I know. I’m ungrateful. I’m superficial. I’m whining about something that happens to every woman, eventually. How dare I be annoyed at Mother Nature when she has really been so good to me. I should be so thankful that I am healthy. That I rocked a bikini up until I had O at 44! That I have escaped so many things that can afflict us. And mostly, I should be grateful that the powers of life, let me conceive and give birth to a beautiful healthy son. And I am!! So very grateful. I’m just whining…and maybe feeling some of those mood swings that can also hit you during this time. Most of all, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Like my wise Mother-in law tells me, time and time again…this too shall pass.

Until next time, I’ll keep battling through my own personal Bikram Bedtime. Keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading. Xo.

Happy New Year Mommy

As the end of each year inches closer and closer, we often read reviews of the events of the past 365 days. Highlights, downers, newsmakers, etc. This morning I was reading the Skimm’s year in review. I enjoy the Skimm. If you aren’t familiar, take a peek. These two women have really made taking in the world news more of a pleasure for this mommy. Cause let’s face it, the nightly news is depressing to say the least, and who has time for that level of negativity? Not this chicka.

As 2015 comes to a close, what was your year in review? Have you thought about it? Have you taken stock? It’s funny, because there have certainly been negatives and hardships along the path. But the only things that truly resonate within me are all the joys. It has been a year of absolute wonder. And I have my beautiful son and my steady husband to thank for that.

I have to wonder if it is because I am older, that I am truly able to appreciate this time in my life. I know this is a common theme of mine. But the question seems to always come up in me. Is my happiness attributed to the birth of my son? Does it have to do with where I am in my life and what I finally believe I deserve? Perhaps it is a combination of things. Certainly, above all else, it has to do with gratitude. I am abundantly thankful, and, in turn, I am abundantly happy. I am absolutely certain there is a direct correlation between happiness and gratitude.

So as 2016 begins, I am going to keep accentuating the positive. All the world’s problems will still be there. We will no doubt be kicked in the gut again with some senseless shooting somewhere in our country’s backyard. We will have a year of crazy political rallies and far too much media coverage of a certain bigoted candidate with a shameful comb-over and even more shameful rhetoric. The world will continue to fear and fight terrorism and the climate will continue to change. What can we actually control? What can our tangible contribution be (beyond getting out and VOTING)? We can choose to be happy. We can pass that gift on to our children. We can show them by example of how to live in gratitude and positivity. That’s my resolution. And I think it’s the only way to defend our souls from the year….hell, from the decades ahead. So happy new year, Mommy. HAPPY new year!

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mother who is pretty sure she is messing it up. Xo

It Is What It Is

Well, I don’t know about you, but this holiday weekend has left me completely wiped out. We hosted Thanksgiving dinner for 10 people and a dog, had my parents visiting with us all week, and had our bathroom remodel project commence. Well, just about. There are a few things the contractors still need to attend to. Getting them back here is going to be a headache for sure. Ugh. I am digressing, as usual. Suffice it to say, I’d like to take a long long bath in our new tub. That’s a great idea.

Of course, all the happenings I just listed were all fraught with bumps and hiccups. Isn’t everything? I kept the phrase, “It is what it is,” going around in my head like a mantra. Cause it’s just the truth. Nothing turns out like you wish it to. You can plan your Thanksgiving dinner for 4pm, but, if you are us, it’s more like 6pm. You can try your hardest to please people, but, if you are me, you usually wind up disappointed at the response. And you can expect a certain level of workmanship from a craftsman, but if you are a perfectionist like me, their work most likely will come up short. I sound like I’m whining. I’m really not. It’s just an exhausted response…but in my heart of hearts I know it is what it is.

The same goes for our project sibling. No success with conception to date. While the “trying” is fun, it’s also exhausting. After two months of no bun in the oven, I am getting the feeling that it may just not happen. I promised myself I would be ok with it. But, of course, I feel the pang of disappointment, even if I am keeping it in check. I think it’s harder to see the look of disappointment on my husband’s face. It’s was so easy last time, I think he thought it would happen just as quickly the second time around. But I know that my body is 2 years older than the last time. I can feel the difference in my body, though no one might be able to see it. Do any of you gals in your 40’s or higher know what I’m talking about? It’s so strange. It’s like aging starts to accelerate from within. It’s totally weird. So I truly leave it up to God and the Universe. It is what it is. And it will be what it will be.

I find the lack of my ability to control the outcome oddly comforting. I’m glad it’s not up to me. I get to sit back and wait and see what happens. I get to have Faith. I get to Trust in something greater than myself. I get to say, “It is what it is” and mean it. And I am reminded everyday that I am not pregnant, I am so so lucky to have the beautiful child I do have.

Until next time, enjoy your left overs and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is messing it up. I’m going to soak in a hot tub with a glass of Pinot Noir. Thanks so much for reading xo.

From Gucci To Gerber

Tales, Insights & Observations from an Advanced Maternal Age New Mother

older mom