I don't know what happened, but I started drinking at my company Christmas party and I never stopped. It's mid-May, so guess I'm a drinker now.
My friend once prefaced a comment with, "This is probably just because I'm a 37-year-old mother, but..." and it was something about wishing she'd slept with more guys, or something like that. I kind of like that disclaimer; every time I think something inappropriate, I just tell myself that's the reason. Oh, I can't help it, I'm a 37-year-old mother, I'm having a midlife crisis, it's just a phase. And then I go on thinking it. No charge for thinking!
I have an urge to misspend my youth now that it's past. I mean, I kind of already misspent my youth, but I'd like to have more fun doing it.
Taking on big responsibilities is a huge gain, you can gain the relative security of a house, the companionship of your mate, the entertainment and rewards of parenthood. And you lose, too. You lose freedom, flexibility, self, choices, time, mindspace, stillness. These are huge losses. I don't mean to make them bigger than the gains, but I tend to emphasize them more because people don't seem to acknowledge them, except in articles about Brooke Shields' post-partum depression or something. For some reason, candy-colored portrayals of parenthood are the norm, with the occasional comedic nod to being flustered and overworked, ha ha ha. Lemme tell you, more than once I wished I could poke someone in the eye and yell, "It's not funny! I feel like shit!" People consider this attitude a sickness and call it post-partum depression in somber tones.
It's no weirder to be angsty about parenthood than it is to be so about dating, or one's own parents, or life in general. Heck, it is life in general. I guess people take complaints about parenthood to imply that one doesn't love one's children, which, I mean, whoa, prepare the stake and the heaps of tinder. It seems like everyone has to bookend any kind of parental negativity with "I love my child(ren), but..." and "...but it's all worth it." It's so expected that I just won't do it. I know I love my kid. I have my own feelings about God, too, but I don't have to explain them. It's personal.
It's tough, like life is tough, and sometimes hating life doesn't mean you want to off yourself. Sometimes hating parenthood doesn't mean you hate your kid.
What do you do about this? Here's what you do: you rock.
Yup. Love stinks? Rock. Parents don't understand? Rock. Don't fit in? Rock. That intelligent guy you are totally in love with only likes high-maintenance bimbos? Rock. You're a 37-year-old mom starting to have to take care your your parents and feel like the walls are closing in? ROCK! ROCK! ROCK! Totally rock! Blow out the amps! Crank up the fuzztone! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I'm so into rock now, it just makes my skin sizzle and my eyes roll back in my head. I really like beer. This, from what was once a nervous, teetotalling, Lilith Fair-listening train wreck. When I smile, my lip curls like Billy Idol's. And after tending a newborn into toddlerhood, I ain't afraid of nobody. Y'all don't scare me, I just came outta HELL!
This is probably just because I'm a 37-year-old mother, but I totally rock.