My entire adult life I've always noticed how tough it seemed to be for my mom to watch me grow up. I think some parents genuinely enjoy watching their children become adults and are overwhelmed with pride as their kids hit adult milestones. I'm not entirely sure that my mom is one of them.
I think she loves me; after all, she is my one and only mom. But I'll never forget my first "adult milestone" of getting married. I don't think she hated my choice of husband. But I think I was young, so in turn, she was a very young mother of the bride, and she might not have been completely ready for it. We shared the same hairdresser, and she told me my mom just felt robbed of me not living at home for the last five months of my engagement that led up to the wedding.
I would go on to watch others marry and their moms would be overjoyed. I kind of felt robbed that I never really got that feeling from my mom.
When Brian and I began trying to conceive, my mom was sometimes on board, sometimes not. By the time we got to the fertility clinic, she was on board. She had trouble talking to me about it. It was something she never fully understood because it was so vastly different from her experience. She would often talk about how a bitter infertile neighbor was awful to her because she found herself pregnant on accident... twice. She seemed to lump me in with this bitter woman that was seemingly awful to her, instead of showing empathy. It was tough going through infertility without always feeling like I had a mom to run to. But it also taught me a lot, and I learned more about the type of mother I wanted to become if I ever had a daughter.
When I got pregnant, her reaction wasn't sad, it wasn't particularly happy. It just kind of was what it was. And I knew that's how it would be because it's how my mom is. She had trouble watching us get excited and start to prepare because to her it was too early. I often thought she thought I was going to lose the baby, and it's why she wanted me to slow down with my excitement. And I cried whenever I voiced that out loud to Brian.
She will sporadically call the baby "her baby". Through time, I've concluded is is her coping mechanism. She's going to become a grandma just short of her 52nd birthday. I know that's young, so again it's hard for her. I used to feel so hurt. How did my mom not realize I fought like hell to have my own baby? How does she not know to a woman who needed IVF, it's hard as hell to hear the child I fought so hard for can't even be referred to as mine? But then I remember, as unfair as that if for me, she's having a tough time, too.
At a point, I have to let go of hoping my mom will change and love being a mom to an adult daughter with a baby on the way. I have to realize it's nothing I did wrong. And I can't make her feel and act a way that she doesn't want to.
I am blessed. I have a mother in law who seems always on a mission to help me enjoy is time of my life, and who showed a great deal of empathy during our infertility struggle. Our relationship hasn't always been perfect but somehow her being very maternal to me throughout treatment and pregnancy has really bonded us. And I'll be forever grateful that she and my sister in law are throwing me a fabulous baby shower. Their excitement makes me very happy.
But there is still a piece of me that wishes my mom would be okay with being a 52 year old grandma. That she could be proud of her daughter who didn't have the easiest go at becoming a parent. I hope she becomes one of those women who lovingly talks about how amazing becoming a grandparent is. But at the end of the day, I'm cautious to hold my breath. I'm scared I'll follow that pattern if Hartley decides to become a mom some day (aren't we all trying to avoid becoming our parents only to become more like them each day?).
I needed to write this. I can't change my mom. I can't always change my disappointment in her. But I can write this to remember how it feels. I can write it to hopefully revisit when Hart grows up. Time is brutal. But if I am lucky enough to watch my daughter grow into an adult and become a grandmother myself someday, I need to remember to cherish that time as much as her first steps or first words. Because isn't that what being a mother is? When there are no more bedtime stories to be read or homework help to be given, there's that everlasting lifelong unconditional love and commitment, right?
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