Birth Stories
Each year on their birthday, I recount the story of each of my children's births. I start by saying, "At this time X number of years ago…" and then I follow with what my body was experiencing however many years ago as they pushed their way closer to being earthside. Each year, I take great pride in recounting how they entered this world because I know if I don't repeat the story, it will be lost.
At 1:40 AM on Monday, October 28th, I turned 42. I was at my mom's house without Nick or the kids, sleeping in my old bed, surrounded by my childhood furniture. She was recovering from her brain surgery, which had just happened that previous Thursday. When I was scheduling my trip, I toggled between Sunday, my birthday, and Tuesday as my return date. I chose a 5pm train on my birthday to maximize my time with her while hedging my chances of seeing Nick and the kids before the day was over.
Me and my mother on my 42nd birthday at Union Station before my departure back home
As a child, birthdays are time for your loved ones to celebrate you, by way of classroom cupcakes, weekend parties, and gifts. It's not uncommon for the pomp and circumstance to dwindle as you get older. In this pretty inconsequential year of 42, I experienced a new kind of celebration of life — my mom's.
Leading into her surgery, I alerted the kids' school of my travel to see my mom for her surgery. I wasn't sure what the outcome would be and if it wasn't favorable, I wanted to give them a heads up that I would be a mess for the foreseeable future. I was bracing myself for the worst. While her surgery was routine, I've watched enough Grey's Anatomy to know that routine surgeries can go south quickly, especially in older adults.
My mom and I on Third Avenue in the East Village on the day she dropped me off to college
My mom and I at my baby shower for Ila
The attention tug of war between attending to your original caretaker(s) who sometimes act like rebellious teenagers and your current dependents who are in my case heading into their actual teenage years can feel at odds with itself. Whose needs get prioritized?
On this particular visit, I felt myself as a mother not only to my children but to my mother. For the first time in my life, I was "really" dialed into her daily needs (meds, meals, sleep schedules). Over the past 12 years, I have shed the selfish layer of just thinking about my needs. This past Monday, I shed the layer of only being focused on the needs of my children. From this time on, worrying about and caring for my mother is part of my care load.
My mom and I on the day of Ila's home birth almost 12 years ago...yes, the home birth was planned.
I know for many this is a place of privilege. Not having to worry about your parents was never an option because you needed to contribute financially to support your family or maybe you needed to intervene on behalf of your parent(s) because their decision making resulted in more tumult for you than good.
As the daughter of a very independent woman who did not have the same privilege that she gave me, I can say that on my 42nd birthday, I became a mother to my 73 year old mom - what a gift.
Petrushka
Your Local Ice Cream Lady & Life/Business Coach