Total Momsense

My life as a wife, mommy and more!

Leave me wishing still, for one more day with you

Being a reporter for the majority of my adult life means I question things constantly – maybe even to the point of obsessiveness. The beauty of being a reporter, though, has meant that most of the time I have the tools at my disposal to find the answers to my questions – and then some.

But there’s one question that will never have an answer, and it’s one that leaves me more than a little sad inside.

What kind of mother might I have been if my own mother were still alive?

My mom died six months before I got pregnant with my son. Those double pink lines on the EPT were bittersweet – I was going to be a mommy, but I was going to do it without the woman who’d nurtured me.

The first few months after dear son came along were r-o-u-g-h. Not only did I have to operate on very little sleep (which makes me quite the bitch) but I had no point of reference from my own mother as to how I was supposed to comfort a newborn. My mother-in-law was wonderful, but it just wasn’t the same as my own mother.

Now that he’s older, rearing him is somewhat easier, but I still long …. no, ache …. for my mother to be here to see all the silly things he does, to tell me how much he’s like how I was at age 6.

All these feelings lead me – and my sister – to read the book “Parentless Parents” by Allison Gilbert. Gilbert nailed the feeling I often have – that I’m adrift in an ocean where I just can’t be reached. I relate to Gilbert because she, too, is a journalist and has shared this experience I am experiencing.

One of the things Gilbert points out is the loss of my mother isn’t just my own. Even though my son doesn’t realize it now, it is his loss as well. He’ll never know what her fried chicken tastes like or how she sounded when she sang along with The Beatles or Statler Brothers.

I’ll have to hope my stories of her are enough.

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