“MOM BLOGS!? Does anyone even read those anymore?”
It was an innocent comment. Made online. The kind you should ignore. Because it wasn’t meant to be personal, even though I had a hard time not taking it that way.
I responded with: “Yes, they do.”
What I wanted to add was, “Yes. Yes, they do. Just like you did. Remember? It really wasn’t all that long ago. It was just a few years, actually. It was back when you cared what color his poop was and which side he nursed on last. When you could quote current studies on immunization schedules and sniff peanut butter from a mile away.Remember?”
Some of us have older kids now. These days, we read New York Times articles and books without pictures, to nurture our own brain rather than our children’s. We meet friends for coffee and go out to dinner sans baby carriers or even high chairs. (Sometimes, we even go sans children.) Our kids read themselves chapters of books before bed, and we don’t even have to tuck them in.
Yet, this comment irked me.
Support for moms, the new and the old, online and in real life, still exists. And it’s still necessary.
I had two kids close together, and as timing and a miscarriage would have it, our third came a bit later than anticipated. A decade after my first “Mom’s Club” meeting, I have two feet firmly planted in two different worlds: I am a mom of older kids, and I am a mom of a toddler. I run to keep up with the big ones while my little one wraps himself around my leg.
I could find an online community to invest myself in, because some days, I still need to hear “It’s okay that the house is a mess and the laundry isn’t folded. You’re doing okay.” I could easily join another Mom’s Club or Preschool group, even if I’d be many years older than most of the other women there.
I revel in my baby’s smooth skin and teensy boy body, with the intimate understanding of how fast he will grow. I cherish the relationships and activities with my older kids, despite (still!) always feeling exhausted.
Not that long ago, my little one and I were making a quick stop to the grocery store and something flipped. Who knows what set him off? The fact I picked the wrong cart? That his feet didn’t go in the right way? I lifted him up too fast? Anyone with a two or three year old knows exactly what I’m talking about.
— To read the rest of this post, one I hope you find encouraging, please click to Mamalode where it was originally published. Thanks!—