I had my children when I was young. As anyone who has experienced parenthood knows, your entire life changes. Nothing you do is for you; every bit of blood, sweat and tears is for them. It was the greatest time of my life. My sacrifices didn't feel as if I were giving up anything that mattered; it felt as if it were the most natural thing to do. I was glad to be able to give all of me to two people who looked up to me, as if I had all the answers to the mysteries of the world. My opinion mattered, my hugs were appreciated, my gifts received startled oooh's and ahhh's.
Now that my children are adults, I find myself begging for their time and wishing I could fulfill their wishes with a simple trip to Toys R Us (or GameWorks). They are busy living their lives, and I should be busy living mine, except that I sacrificed it all away. I look around and can't help but wonder, what happened?
Don't get me wrong; I love my life and I enjoy "the long and winding road" that it took to get to a place of satisfaction, a place I can finally call home. However, I miss the babies they once were. It's the biggest cliche, a mother wishing her grown children were still young, but nothing can replace the love and acceptance a child instinctively knows how to give. And, there's a bit of sadness in knowing that they will never look at you like that again. So for my first post, on the brink of 2012, I will take the advice of Dylan Thomas, "Do not go gentle into that good night."
Expect a lot of craziness from me, my children, because I'd rather be a crazy lady than a silent one.
