by Andrea Lynn
Ah, February. The month of love. Spare me. Always my least favourite holiday, Valentine’s Day, edging out New Year’s Day by a whisker. Both holidays of forced expression of love, or joy, both awkward for the singletons at the party or restaurant, surrounded by the coupled. […]
by Andrea Lynn
I pretty much read any article I come across about older motherhood, so this one in my local paper of course caught my eye:
It all hit home to me. It is the story mom Julie Morris (a new mom at 41) and daughter Maggie Fisher, fast-forwarded to 18 years later. Maggie’s father, 71 when Maggie was born, died when she was still a little girl. The writer says:
“It made Morris consider her own mortality, too, and raise it with Maggie. “When she was 10, I had to sit down with her and ask, ‘If anything happens to me, what would you like to happen to you,’ It was a pretty hard moment for her.” Oh, my death fears. Don’t get me started. […]
by Andrea Lynn
I know I’m not supposed to embrace the “more gifts” approach to Christmas. But all I want for Christmas this year is more toys for my kids. I do. I covet all sorts of shiny and colorful things that I know they will love. My budget is tight, and I am trying to be financially responsible, but I see things other kids have and I want my kids to have that too. It is absolutely politically, morally, ethically corrupt to admit that, at this time of year especially, but I am fearless. I want more toys for my kids. […]
by Andrea Lynn
In my life, there are many mothers I respect and admire. Friends, family, colleagues, even strangers. Mothers I see in the world doing the right thing with children, showing small kindnesses, endless patience, needed discipline. Moms who have faced huge obstacles, small tragedies, who started their journeys late or in roundabout ways. But heroic mothers? I only know one, and I don’t know her well. She is a midlife mother, in her 50s, and attends the same church as I do. I know her because our congregation has adopted her cause as ours — emergency foster care of the youngest children in our city. […]
by Andrea Lynn
My brother and I are only 21 months apart, so for most of our lives, he went first and I followed soon after. School, swimming lessons, learning to drive, off to university. I`d watch him go, and take mental notes, and I`d be along, two years later. We were a little competitive, but different enough in interests and personalities that it never got out of hand. I confess that when we both graduated and started our first jobs, we compared salaries for a while. I`d be ahead by a few thousand, and then he`d catch up. But then he had a period of unemployment and comparisons became unseemly – good thing, because now I`d have to double my pay to get anywhere near his. While he was unemployed, he went back to school to get his executive MBA, to add to his engineering degree. Which was, as it turned out, a sound financial decision. […]
by Andrea Lynn
I always feel like my mother when I clean the oven. I did it last night in recognition that our days of barbecuing will be curtailed soon enough, and an oven-warmed house will soon be a lovely thing. Oven cleaning has come a long way, with the push of a button, but there is still the messy bit at the end that involves rubber gloves, and that is when I feel like my mother — in the best possible way. Productive. […]
by Andrea Lynn
I’ve done it. I’ve put the baby gear up for sale. The Bjorn. The exersaucer. The infant carseat and the bumbo chair. Taken photos, written reassuringly about a pet-free and smoke-free home, and hit “post ad.” The pile of gear, cleaned up for the photo op, now sits in the middle of the dining room awaiting eager buyers, ignored by the 3 year old and used only as a hand-hold by the baby, who toddles by haltingly on the way to her next task, oblivious to the detritus of her infancy. […]
by Andrea Lynn
It finally happened. Claire, 3, got the daddy question. As in, “Why don’t you have a daddy?” Though, to be completely accurate, the 4-year-old friend who was over for a playdate phrased it less aggressively, as: “I have a mommy and a daddy.” Pause. Wait for response. I was in the kitchen with my daughter and her curious friend, who we know quite well. Without appearing interested in their conversation, I was waiting for Claire’s response as well. And it was a good one. “I have a mommy,” she said, quite simply. The friend tried again. “I have both. You don’t have a daddy.” Claire thought about this. “I have a sister,” she replied. Score! A perfect response. I was so proud. […]
by Andrea Lynn
When someone suggested I might write for the Mothering in the Middle project, it seemed a perfect fit. Older women, coming to motherhood after other things. Infertility as a side-dish for some of us, adding that extra dash of gratefulness to our motherhood journey. Issues of aging – our parents, ourselves. A perfect fit. […]
by Andrea Lynn
On my very first Mother’s Day, I was three and a half weeks pregnant. Anyone who knows fertility (and infertility) and the bizarre world of pregnancy dating knows that a woman who is three and a half weeks pregnant doesn’t even KNOW she is pregnant yet. But I knew. It was about a week after my IVF, and I was gardening in the backyard. I dug holes to plant a new rose of Sharon and five lilies, and I became so overcome with that little exertion that I laid down on the grass, on my back, and looked up through the green of my maple tree to the blue sky above, and felt nearly faint with exhaustion. And that Sunday afternoon, Mother’s Day, I wondered if I was suddenly very tired for a very good reason. And I felt happy. By Monday I was debating baby names, though it wasn’t until Wednesday that I peed on a stick and got the two pink lines that I’d begun to think might never, never appear. […]