Gina has been staying at the house the last few days, mostly because she is in transition. She had to move from the apartment she'd been renting with her roommates from freshman year of college. It's a frustrating time. She has not been able to find a job, and her money is running low. I'm not in a way to really help her either, which is frustrating for me.
We were packing and moving her stuff from the apartment yesterday, and she looks at me at one point and says, "I've just realized that next year, I'll be twenty. I will no longer be a teenager. I feel old." Both of us stared at each for a moment, she worrying about not being a teenager, and me thinking, "How the hell does she get off thinking SHE'S the one who's old?!"
I watch her and Stuart and know that I am in transition. That's what parenting is, really. Transition. The first transition is rough. You move from being able to go to the Waffle House with your friends at 2 am and then stay up till dawn discussing how your generation will save the universe with rubber bands, to being up at 2 am feeding this tiny person who speaks in coos and howls and poops at the drop of a hat.
After the initial transition, you must make a decision. Are you going to be there for this tiny poop and tears machine, or are you going to attempt to continue the ol' WaHo routine with your friends? Most of us choose the former, and are ok with that. When we choose the former, we are choosing transition.
So we move from this person being tiny and helpless and needing you each moment to this same person looking at you saying, "I'll be twenty and an adult. I feel old."Every transition is leading to this moment.
I still catch myself doing things that indicate that my children are, well, children. I still need them to call me when they go places (thankfully, they are good about doing it for the most part) so I know they are safe. I still tell them not to do anything stupid that will change the course of their lives. What is lovely, however, is that they put up with all of this, and my transition to accepting their adulthood and autonomy from me is made easier.
I really don't mind them becoming grown ups. It's kind of cool. I can now transition to my new life as well. I'm not sure I can go back to the WaHo Save the World All Night Long discussions, but I can try to discover myself in new ways. Maybe I might actually become a grown up too.
God, I hope not.
Bitch please, you are not old. You're not old, you're timeless and foxy. You can't be old and timeless, pick one.< /sassy gay friend (please don't ground me)(can you ground me? I guess please don't take my grocery and sushi fund...) >
ReplyDeleteI also enjoy how telling us not to do anything stupid (which we all know means don't have sex) is you keeping us as children. Does that mean sex is acceptable for adults in the mom-verse? My mind is blown, my whole parent world view destroyed.
But no, you're not old and I'm not either really. We're just better, sort of, and are old enough to know it's probably clever to be freaked out. on
Ok. No sushi for you...one year! Seriously, you make a good point. We're not old, either of us. We're just in a new place where we can communicate differently. It's good. I just have to adjust.
ReplyDeleteFor the record, the reason I tell you not to do anything stupid (meaning sex) is because while it is acceptable for adults, it has ramifications that can make your adult life more complicated than it needs to be at your ripe old age of almost 19. I want you to live your life in an uncomplicated way (if at all possible). I want grandchildren. I just don't want them now.