Motherhood is Ageless

Age. As an older first-time parent, age is something that is always resting in the back of your mind, waiting for an inopportune moment to rear its ugly head. This past weekend, for the second time, an older person looked at me and asked if my daughter was my grand-daughter. When I answered that she was my daughter, she actually gasped! While I'm not Christie Brinkley, I'd like to think I'm not Betty White, either. The comment stung and made me think about what other people see when my daughter and I are together.

Most often, DH and I think of age to the extent that we want to be here for our daughter as long as possible, to see her grow into adulthood. It's certainly the reason I quit smoking and have begun to exercise and watch what I eat. Ironically, most outsiders would probably assume age is a factor in my ability to parent, meaning that at age 46 I don't have the stamina to parent as well as someone younger. Maybe, maybe not. I think I'm a better parent because of my age in that I have more tolerance, understanding and desire. I wanted my child; not that birth mothers don't, but I do believe I wanted my child more. My child has made my life, as opposed to filling a need or "checking off a box" on my life's list of things to do.

Too, I think a lot of people mistakenly think that I've adopted because I couldn't birth my own child. There are unspoken assumptions among the adoptive circle that are sometimes true and just as often not. I could tell people why I adopted, but is it anyone's business? Families are about love, not rudeness.

A recent episode of House has had me thinking about age, mostly as it relates to my own mother. I'm the youngest child in my family and my nieces and nephews have had the luxury of a Grandma that my daughter will never have. By the Grace of God, my daughter knows that she has a Nana and a Grandma, even if Grandma doesn't always know who she is or remember that she exists. My mother has Alzheimer's. Those four words mean that my daughter will likely not know the Grandma that all her cousins got to play with, laugh with, have as a sitter, enjoy holidays with and generally be spoiled rotten by. Thankfully, my daughter won't mourn that loss as much as I do.

Mom was the oldest of nine children born to an abusive, alcoholic father and a submissive mother who died 18 months after the birth of her last child. My mother got the task of raising her siblings, while defending herself from atrocities no child should suffer. Having survived that, Mom left home, got married and had four children; the third of which was born with mental retardation in a time when the solution for such births was to institutionalize them. Deep down, I know my mother blamed herself for my brother's condition, even though it was misplaced. Finally, after getting her children raised (well, all but one who remains as co-dependent as when she was two), Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. A lifetime of hurdles, ending with a woman who spends her days laying in a bed that is not hers in a place that is not her home with people she doesn't know. (Even typing this brings me to tears.)

My husband and I often joke that we're kind to our daughter because we'll need her to wipe our tushes when we get to "Happy Acres" in a few years. In reality, I hope she never has to suffer through anything like this. Equally, I hope she doesn't suffer any foolish questions about who her parents are. "Is that your Mom or your grandma?" "Are those old people your parents?" "How old IS your Mom?" I would hope my daughter never has to defend her Mom and Dad, but I also know from firsthand experience that children can be very cruel.

Turning 40 was a delightful experience for me. I embraced it with abandon knowing that I was lucky to be at an age where experience was a good thing and living in a time when numbers only mattered on paper. As I begin the descent to 50, I'm a little uncertain. I find myself wondering if I'll age gracefully, or have medical concerns (like Alzheimer's) to burden my family with. Will I be able to keep myself in good enough shape to keep up with my daughter and be an active participant in her life?

The wisdom that you so proudly hold on to as you age can be just as fleeting when you're faced with uncertainty. I don't know how much of my daughter's life I'll have luck enough to enjoy, so perhaps that's why I let her sleep with me at night even though there's a $2000 bedroom set with Thomas the Tank Engine bedding on it for her. I don't know if I will have the pleasure of seeing her walk down the isle as a new bride, so I make sure I tell her every day how much we love her and how important she is to our lives. I don't know if she'll even remember all the gifts we've lavished upon her, or the clothes and shoes, so I try and make sure she is just as gifted with hugs and physical contact from us. I want her to inately know how precious she is to her father and I.

Yes, I am a parent. I'm not old and I'm not young. The days are now here when I have mostly memories to keep the love of my mother and I together, and that is a diamond to behold. I hope that someday my daughter can say the same of us; that she will be able to open her own treasure chest of memories to sustain her.

....Mom, I love you and always will no matter where you are in this world.