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If My Life Had a Sitcom Title it Would Be “Pushing Fifty and a Stroller”

The other day while we waited to be called for brunch, the overly cheerful hostess said, “I have a granddaughter that age, too!” There’s only one problem. My baby isn’t my granddaughter. She’s my daughter.

I’m old. And I have a baby. I’m an old new mom. But this isn’t my first rodeo. I had my first son at 33, and my second son at 39. I thought I was an old new mom then, but the universe said, “Ha! You think you’re tired now?” I was 47 when I had my daughter. Tired doesn’t even begin to describe what those first few months were like. There was a brief window of time when I was post-natal, perimenopausal, lactating and menstruating all at once.

That deserves repeating. Post-natal (hormone frenzy), perimenopausal (hormone frenzy), lactating (hormobaby-facene frenzy) and menstruating (hormone frenzy) all at the same time. People think I deserve some kind of medal for living through this without killing my husband, and maybe I do. But let’s consider my husband for a minute. He was living with a woman who was post-natal, perimenopausal, lactating and menstruating all at the same time. I’m pretty sure he deserves the medal.

I’m a much different mom now than when I became one at 33. I’m much more laissez-faire about the whole thing. Chicken nuggets for breakfast? Sure, why not. No bath tonight? Fine, more time to catch up on This is Us. Fell asleep in your clothes again? Great, that will save us time in the morning. At this point I’ve learned what the important things are and what’s not worth sweating. That, and I’m inherently lazy.

Back when I was a first-time mom I needed to be a good mom, whatever that meant. (I let go of that now.) With my oldest son, I was always present. I never checked out mentally when he talked or pretended to be working while actually playing Bubble Mania on my phone. I looked at every ingredient on everything I bought at the grocery store. I read to him. We co-slept. I took him to the park, museums, story time, art time, library time, mommy-and-me, Gymboree, My Gym, bouncy castles, carnivals, play lands, etc. I read parenting books. When he was diagnosed on the spectrum I advocated at his IEPs for the maximum amount of intervention.

He flourished and I thought it was because I did everything right. Then just before he turned ten he was diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor and only had a few months to live. I bring this up not for sympathy or shock value, but to show that nothing sculpts motherhood into something unrecognizable like losing the baby that made you a mommy. I changed drastically after losing my oldest son, and not for the better. I no longer care if I do everything right. These days I feel accomplished if I can do anything right.dragonfly-friends

My middle son describes me as badass, mysterious and loving. But if I’m so mysterious then how come he can figure me out so easily? I used to think I was relaxed and sincere. An old friend once described me as down-to-earth, which I immediately confused with back-to-nature and argued that I did in fact wear deodorant.

This blog will be a lot of things because, well, I’m a lot of things. We all are. We are normal and boring and unusual and interesting all at once. I’ve experienced great heartbreak and tremendous joy. I can see the forest and the trees and both have their own beauty.

So join me — or not. It’s up to you. My blog may have a cute sit-commy title but life isn’t all set up and punch line. Whose life comes with a laughtrack anyway? Nobody I know.

 

Signs Summer is Over

  1. Dark circles return under my eyes
  2. I set the alarm again
  3. Avocados double in price
  4. Apples replace peaches
  5. It’s too dark to walk after dinner
  6. My inbox is filled with school fundraising requests
  7. The kids practice their instruments
  8. I feel rushed all day long
  9. Reading for work replaces reading for pleasure
  10. I think too much about which shoes I’ll wear

Things I’ll Do When I’m an Old Lady

  1. Wear enormous necklaces
  2. Roll my eyes at people
  3. Get a discount at IHOP
  4. Wear clogs as dress shoes
  5. Say non sequiturs
  6. Wear slippers to the grocery store
  7. Swim during the safety break
  8. Swear even more
  9. Call whippersnappers “sonny” and “doll face”
  10. Day drink

Not One More Thing

There was a long night while my son was in a coma in the PICU at Children’s Hospital when I couldn’t stop crying. I paced the halls, I stared out the window. I cried. I needed to talk to someone who knew how I felt. I had the phone number of a mom whose son had died from DIPG the year before. I didn’t know her beyond email. She said if I ever needed to talk she’d be there for me. So I called her.

She knew immediately how to talk to me. She said I could ask her anything. My first and only question was why didn’t you kill yourself after your son died? She paused. Said it was a very important question, one she’d given a great deal of thought. She gave me such a simple, personal and honest answer that I’ve replayed it in my mind a thousand times since.

She said DIPG took so much from her family. She reached a point where she wasn’t going to let it take one more thing. Not One More Thing.

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I’m thinking about this now because I’m a few days away from the anniversary of my son’s diagnosis. There are a handful of days that are tied for the worst day of my life — my son’s death and burial, but also the day he slipped into a coma and the day he was diagnosed. Diagnosis Day was the day that changed everything. Our life got divided into Before and After. Problems got divided between before and after, the after ones being problems we never thought we’d have to deal with. For us, Christmas is Diagnosis Day, which is particularly horrible for my husband. He used to love Christmas.

The list of things that were taken from our family after my son’s death is unmeasurable. But it has to end somewhere. It ends with Not One More Thing.

Instructions For Taking Care of My Dog

puppy-painterThank you for agreeing to take care of Pismo while we are on vacation. You are a wonderful friend. I know she’s in good hands with you. Here’s what you need to know:

  1. Love her. Hug her. Scratch her. Play with her. Kiss her. Pet her. Talk to her.
  2. Pismo eats 2x a day. One cup of Iams mini-chunks in the green bag in the AM mixed with water. Again at 6pm. Give her fresh water at these times. Pismo gets dehydrated easily.
  3. Take Pismo out at least 3x a day. Once in the AM when she first wakes up (not when you first wake up), once in the afternoon and once more before bed. Pick a spot and keep taking her there. She will eventually catch on. Bring several poop bags with you on walks. She will make at least 3 poops per walk. The last one will be a bitch to pick up.
  4. If you choose to give Pismo additional food she can eat chicken (no skin), turkey sandwich meat, boiled white rice, cottage cheese, eggs (either boiled, scrambled or sunny-side up). It is ok to let her suck on an apple core if you hold it and don’t let her eat it, but be careful about the seeds. If you give her additional food put it in her bowl, I don’t want her to lose her manners. Except for the apple.
  5. Pismo will arrive with 1 ball, 1 rope bone, 2 socks that have been worn for several days so they carry my scent. Do not give her rawhide or hoofs. You will regret it. Play only with hard plastic toys, use the ball as an example. If she punctures a toy please remove it. Let her pull off your socks. She will then lick your toes. Let her do this. It makes her happy.
  6. If you take her in the car expect her to drool. Bring paper towels. Remove her leash, it could be a choking hazard. Put her on the seat next to you. She likes to look out the window. Don’t let her stick her head out too far. She doesn’t get carsick anymore but if she’s going to vomit she will warn you with a series of pre-vomit gags. That’s usually enough time to pull over or hold a bag to catch the puke. Also, take her to pee before a car ride just to be safe.
  7. Let her sleep in the bed with you.
  8. Don’t leave her alone in the backyard. She’s a digger and might try to escape. If you must leave her alone make sure it’s someplace safe with her toys around her. Beware of outlets, cords, wires or potential destruction projects she could accomplish.
  9. Never let go of the leash, even when she yanks super hard. Wrap it around your hand. Try to distract her from squirrels and bunnies.
  10. Her favorite shows are The Office and Friends. You might want to leave them on in the background at all times.
  11. Pismo hates baths. Don’t bother unless it’s absolutely necessary. Use baby shampoo, no conditioner or product. Brush thoroughly. Blow dry on low setting.
  12. Her favorite activities are to lick herself, lick feet, fetch (but she won’t give it back).
  13. Pismo doesn’t get along with other dogs. She doesn’t like being sniffed or humped and they always do that to her.
  14. If she gets icky poop feed her boiled white rice and cottage cheese, 1 cup each. Take her out more often. Even if she’s really sick she can still hold it. Should she have an accident, you can scold her but only if you catch her right away. If time passes she won’t remember why you are yelling at her and she will think you’re crazy. If she ruins anything just send me the bill.
  15. Consider yourself warned — her farts can clear a room.

Again, thank you so much for watching her. See you in two weeks!!

Love,

Your BFF