The Ninth Inning of Parenting

The Ninth Inning of Parenting

Managing but not retiring from being a mom

I’ve been a mother for more years than I’ve not been a mother. While I don’t consider myself old yet (and still feel about 28 on the inside), I know that the time in which my kids will need my hands-on mothering is quickly drawing to a close. Back when I was 20 and my oldest daughter was a newborn, I was a bright-eyed rookie marveling at this new role of mother. I recall saying “my daughter” and having it sound so fantastically new. Ten years later, hearing myself utter the words “my son” also sounded peculiar to me after ten years of mothering two girls, but I was still so eager to learn all I could, firmly implanted in the batter’s box.

As another Mother’s Day approaches, I’ve become more aware, especially in these last few years, of just how much my role as a mom has shifted. As my youngest reached his teen years, I realized for the first time that my parenting would be taking a backseat to my life, and this realization felt bizarre.

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For over 20 years, I proudly wore the uniform with a capital MOM on the back. It was my heyday, collecting runs in the form of sweet milestones, homers made up of achievements, and grand slam memories of laughs and love.

Of course, I was also fostering my career, but my daily schedule revolved around when I had to drop off or pick up kids, take them to a doctor or a practice, help with homework, or make dinner. As my youngest grew older, it was a different era for me. It was a seamless transition. One by one, each of my kids blossomed into grown people who could handle things themselves.

It’s not that I didn’t know this was coming, yet it still feels surreal. I’ve watched countless movies with the mother wondering who she is after raising a family. I always thought I would not even notice when the time came because I would be so thrilled to have the long-awaited independence that I hadn’t had since I was practically a kid myself.

It’s true, the freedom alone is amazing. I can barely remember the early parenting days when I couldn’t shower, sleep at night, watch my favorite show, shop alone, or even read a book whenever I wanted.

At the time, I thought those long, busy days would never end. But I was so completely enthralled and fascinated by these little people that I gave it my all and reveled in it — even the mess. When I was overwhelmed, I cried and confided in family and friends, wrote out my feelings, and then recouped and started all over again. That’s what moms do.

I suppose if I had had a single adult life before marriage and kids, I may not have found this feeling so foreign, but I didn’t. I married young, and had my babies young, and I am, for the first time, finding out what it means to be me, without the uniform.

Of course, I’ll always be a mother and my young adult kids still need me, just as I need them, but this third shift of parenting, this breezy ushering into managing rather than playing, is supremely satisfying. It has arrived so swiftly, and so sweetly, it feels like a TV series medley where a heartfelt tune is played while showing how all the characters have grown.

Now it’s time for me to coach and advise, knowing my players won’t always take the advice, and that is absolutely fine. I’ll never retire my number, and I’ll proudly enjoy watching my rookies take their place in the dugout, knowing I’ll be right on the sidelines when they need me.

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