Life?

 Life.  Life.  It goes on and on.  I spend much of my time, and therefore my life, thinking about my kids.   How much I like them.  How much I miss them.  How much I wish I had been nicer and more patient with them.  All of them.

They are all adults and have been for a while.  My "baby" is 30!   When I was 30, I had my third child.  I had been married for 12 years.  I did not consider myself a child at all.

But then, when my mother forgot to call me on my birthday, or didn't write for a few weeks, I was a sad, tearful child again.  Feeling hurt.  "feeling sorry for myself".  That's what I was told I was doing when I was a kid and got upset.   I am sure I said hurtful words to my children too.  It's hard, and impossible to be the perfect parent that you think you should be.

The kids are all planning to be here for Christmas.  I am happy.  I am excited.  And I am nervous.  Will someone get mad at someone else.  Will we all be able to keep patient with each other.  Will they find Nick and I annoying?

I want to hold my babies faces in my hands, one at a time, and look into their eyes.  The eyes that used to gaze into mine as if I was their world, their universe.   All of them held my attention in their eye contact and love.

Nick and I were talking today about how seldom we "fight" these days.  We don't annoy each other as much or in as many ways as we used to.   Maybe we've figured out that fussing doesn't fix anything.   We "yell" sort of, but we always end up laughing.

I wonder if, as you get older and less hormonal, you become more mellow and reasonable?     I told Nick that I wish I had been able to be this mellow when the kids were kids.  But it is almost impossible.   You can have one kid yelling "wipe me" while another one is asking for something and yet another  is beating up a sibling.  There is nowhere for mellow and peace to find itself.

I recall the 10:00 TV shows.  Whatever was the popular show of the day, I would stay up to watching it "China Beach", Thirty Something"  "Northern Exposure".  "Hillstreet Blues " and "Cagney and Lacey".    I am sure there are more.  That was MY time.  The house was quiet. Maybe the youngest one would sit with me nursing himself to sleep.  But it was the only time I relaxed.

Lately I have been finding myself thinking about the two I didn't have.   That first baby would be 44 now.  I always imagined it was a girl although I never knew.  Maybe that's the baby that would grow up and make me into a grandmother.   Maybe that would have been the one that was mellow and helped me be a mellower mother.    We talked about the name Symphony Sky.   Yesterday we were watching something on TV and one of the characters was a woman named "Sky".   We both noticed it and talked about Symphony Sky.    The other lost baby was too early to really have much of a fantasy life about.   It was just a piece of me for a few short weeks and then it was gone.   A blob in the toilet.  A dream not realized.

Everyone grieved for the first baby.  Nick-named "Nabisco".  Everyone knew I was pregnant.  I looked it.  I planned for a baby- even bought baby clothes and cloth diapers.    The other one- Nick and I knew.  And then it was gone.

This is my 95 year old friend holding hands with her first great grandchild.