I used to say that I was a city-girl living in the country, an educated professional committed to being a stay-at-home-mom, and a Southerner living in the no-man’s land of a border state. I used to say that I was blessed to still have a sense of humor.
All of that is still true, but now, I also describe myself as being the sweet and sticky substance smashed between two slices of bread before it is accidently ground into an expensive Persian rug.
I’m always holding two hands: One small and growing and the other old and withering. Both are strong. And I believe a third and fourth hand would be, well, handy.
My back hurts. My heart aches. And when I hear other people talk about how hard it is to be a parent, I think, “Well, then, don’t even attempt elder-care because it is going to knock you down and hold you under. You would be gasping for air if you were me.” (And I remind myself I would be gasping for air if I were them–because that is how it works. We are all best suited for our own challenges, right?)
You see, I’m not only blessed to be the mother of two very young, healthy, super-active children, but I’m also caring for my 80-something-year-old mother-in-law. Forget having a sense of humor. I’m damn lucky to have my sanity.