A Mother’s Story

I had my first son in 1983 when I was 21 years old. I love him immensely and sometimes when I look at him I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to be alive. We were so young and naive, jumping into this parenting thing. I suppose I felt prepared. I had a baby shower, collected all of the necessary baby items, fixed up the nursery, and if memory serves, I even embroidered something.  In the days leading up to the expected arrival, I remained focused on what seemed like the most important part of readiness, obtaining a Jenny Lind spindle crib and a bentwood rocker which were hugely popular at the time. But seriously, what did I know?  Today most mothers are older, they read, plan, take classes and ask the right questions.  Me? I had my crib and rocking chair, I was ready. 

Although I was two weeks past my due date, in the midst of a very humid Kansas summer, and wanted nothing more than to have this baby out of my body, I was actually unprepared when labor finally happened.  This was when people were pretty tight-lipped about the pain associated with having a baby.  We all knew it hurt, but as my mother later explained to me, if we talk about how much it hurts, people won’t want to have babies. Made sense, right?  We wouldn’t want to risk putting an end to mankind.  Even so, I think the real reason is that it is just indescribable. It didn’t help that my labor nurse was the maternity ward’s own version of Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

When it came time to leave the hospital and our beautiful child was placed in my arms, his father and I stared at the hospital staff dumbfounded.  Wait, what?  You are trusting us to keep this tiny creature alive?  But we learned as we went and somehow he survived.  He was a colicky one and he and I spent many hours in the bentwood, which turned out to be pretty important after all.  We went back and forth to a Ricky Skaggs album we had on hand which quieted him at the time, although doesn’t appear to have influenced his taste in music later in his life.  

By the time my second came along in 1988, I had found my stride and settled into the routine of motherhood.  But as any mother will tell you, what works for one child is unlikely to do the same for the next.  Instead of a country crooner, this one preferred the hum of a vacuum cleaner to fall asleep. While in my mid-twenties, there was probably still much to be learned but it was looking as though I hadn’t done too much harm to the first one and I was feeling pretty confident about my chances with the second. 

When I had my kids, their father was there for the birth but promptly returned to work the next day. He wasn’t being a bad father, that is just how it was back then.  I had my network of sisters who were also young mothers and we helped each other out when needed, but for the most part, I was a lone warrior in the day-to-day care.  In many ways, things were less complicated than today when it comes to raising our kids. Were we just unaware? Or are today’s parents are overthinking it? I listen in amusement as my sons contemplate the nutritional value of each morsel put into the mouth of their own child. I want to shout “I fed you Vienna Sausages, for the love of God and you are fine!” But I remain silent in order to avoid the trauma they would likely experience at such a revelation. 

So maybe we didn’t know everything about parenting back then, but I was having a blast raising these two beautiful, rambunctious boys in this decadent time which was the late eighties and early nineties.  I loved everything about this “greed is good” period.  The culture, the music, even the ridiculous big hair.  I had moved on from Ricky Skaggs to the pop stars of the time like Madonna, Prince, Billy Joel, and Phil Collins. The kids were doing great and I believed I had this mother thing down pretty well by this time.

With cousins close by and neighborhood friends, they kept busy doing the usual childhood activities. Building tree houses, playing sports, and getting into the latest video games that were coming out at the time. I must admit, I was intrigued and enjoyed watching them play. Truth be told, there was a short period when I became a little obsessed with Tetris myself. The little one was on a mission with Zelda. It seems like he worked on this quest for a while. We were always aware when he played.  On the lookout for the flying controller which would inevitably come sailing across the room accompanied by the “IT”S IMPOSSIBLE!”  But soon enough he would be back at it again.  I am not sure if he ever beat that game.  At some point, we just quit talking about it.  

Then along came the mid-nineties and I would again find myself in uncharted territory becoming a single mother and starting the process of learning all over again.  Anyone who has experienced single parenthood will attest to its challenges. With a father who remained in their lives and helped to support them financially my situation may have been easier than for some, even so, the struggle was real.  I was a little older and wiser but again in a position where I would be flying by the seat of my pants and making it up as I went along. 

I was back to a full-time job working for someone other than myself after many years of bookkeeping for family-owned businesses.  I was juggling a career and parenting along with some attempt at a social life.  Just prior to my divorce, my friendships had been reduced to my sisters and the boys’ friend’s parents, which served me well at the time.  The singles world had changed in the past 15 or so years and I was a bit taken aback. After I found myself at a club in the company of male strippers on my first singles outing with my new girlfriends at the office, I realized maybe I should keep my primary focus on my career and family for a while and take that part a little slower.  

There were some missteps along the way but we settled into a rhythm once again. I learned some new skills, like patching a hole in the drywall and taking care of my lawn (one of the nicest on the block).  I even attempted to install a toilet.  Actually, that one didn’t turn out too well and I got a call from the new homeowner after I sold the house.  Something about a leak?

The time went fast.  My oldest entered his teen years and spent more time with friends.  I spent many evenings and weekends at baseball and basketball games with my right-handed youngest who somehow ended up nicknamed Lefty by his coach.  We had a dog named Bobo and a cat named Sassy whom we swore were in cahoots. Hadn’t the cat purposely knocked my leftover birthday cake from the counter to the floor so it could be shared by both? I am sure there were hard times and sad times but I mostly remember these silly little occasions. The ones that made us laugh.  By the time my oldest was in college and I had moved out of state with the youngest, I felt I had finally mastered single-mothering.  And at the perfect time, perhaps by design, I remarried just as he too headed off to college. 

My kids are adults now and living in different states but we remain close.  Whether it is despite me or because of me, they have both grown up to be wonderful men, fathers, and sons doing great things with their lives.