Mothering

I don't instinctively know how to mother. I am terrible at it, based on standards of everyone around me. I could blame my upbringing and the values (or lack thereof) instilled upon me at a tender age. But somewhere along the lines I own this. It would have been wonderful if I figured out the mother stuff out on my own. I give Reader Number Two a lot of credit. When she came along, she gave me a crash-course. When Polly was born, I had zero maternal instincts, instead was stuck in a horrible postpartum depression that lasted longer than it should have. It was under control with Buckaroo, but still the instinct has never fully kicked in and I struggle mightily.

Today, I watched 17 year old Polly get ready for work and compared her to my life at the same age. Polly is ready to burst out to adulthood as long as it is in small, teeny, tiny steps. She wants to be independent. Grown up. That's why I am always surprised when she asks for some basic mothering. I am happy to do it, but I have always needed my children to show me how.

This morning, Polly needed lunch made for her shift at work. But when I pointed out she was going hiking and needed to bring water or Gatorade, she growled at me. When I suggested out she needed sneakers and socks instead of flip flops, she asked me to find her the "right" kinds of hiking socks. I lovingly did, knowing this may be the last time I get to do so. I then reminded her to brush her hair, which elicited an eye roll and a smartass comment. (My new angle on this is that there is a certain image she has to maintain at work, so being well-groomed, especially brushing that thick mane of hers, is essential. But the truth is, if she has her way, she will have medusa hair for the rest of her life). I have never won the hair battle. In fact, I tag-teamed Marty on this one and he assured me he would make sure her hair was brushed before she stepped into work.

The years have flown by, (Alec, it will blow you away how fast time will go!). When Polly was 14, she would tell us she was moving out the day after her 18th birthday. I used to believe her, because I moved out at 18. However, it broke my heart to think my Polly wants to leave the nest. As time went on, Polly wisely evaluated and decided she would probably leave at 19 now. I am older too, and I know the reality of economies. I am not holding my breath she is leaving even at 19. That's ok, I still like having her home. It gives me a few more precious chances to be a mommy.