Today is my youngest son’s 18th birthday. Out of my four children, I only have one baby who isn’t technically an adult. I have three “adult children.” I remember for years when older women would comment on my kids’ cuteness, I would politely ask them if they had children and they would say something like, “Yes . . . well I mean, they’re all grown up now.” When you are in that younger mom stage of life, you never imagine that you’ll be that older mom stammering out an awkward answer to the question, “Do you have kids?” Yet, now, I am that awkward older woman with four, mostly grown children.
I have even more compassion for that older mother now. That older mother has seen a lot. She’s been through a lot of joys and sorrows, and hopes and fears. She’s had experiences that she never imagined having, raising those kids to adulthood. She’s filled with pride, joy, amazement, relief, nostalgia and wonder. She’s filled with hope, awe, curiosity and questions of what to do next. She thought that maybe when the kids were older, she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable, but she now has come to the wisdom that her heart is walking around on multiple sets of legs, and those legs are walking farther away, going on Life’s wild adventures, leaving her heart even more exposed than maybe it has ever been before.
So now, when a sweet, beautiful, frazzled young mother politely asks me if I have children, I say, “Yes, I have four mostly grown-up children. And they are wonderful. Enjoy and savor your babies. They are your most amazing, miraculous co-creation with Life.”