Turning 50 -- 69 days to Go -- I'm an OLD Mom

A few years ago, I realized that I could easily divide my life into approximate 20 year segments: 20 years of growing up under the protective care of my parents (yes, college years count); 20 years of living single, traveling the world, a tramp for the Lord; and then, after adopting Christian when I was 44 and he was 20 months, I expected 20 years of full focus on rearing my son. Yes, I knew I would, as a single mom, be required to work in order to support us both, but one doesn't really take into account just what will be required in single motherhood.

Friends warned me, and after two years of, "I told you so!" I wanted to smack some of them in the sunset of their sweet anatomy! Do people say that to biological parents? "I told you so, I told you so!" As if I had a choice! Adoption for me, while completely out of the norm for our culture (maybe any culture), was not an choice, anymore than birthing a much-wanted biological child is an choice. It was an irresistible pull, like finding my magnetic north and forever being dragged that way, from the time I was a little girl. Sure, I could have resisted the pull, just as biological parents can exercise options to prevent parenthood. But I would have forever been off-kilter, struggling to figure out why I was limping through life.

Parenting is a full-time job. Full-time and a half, three-quarters, double-time! There is never a day off, and even when I get the chance (curse?) to have 24 hours away, my mind is always pulled back to him. I'd like to think that as an older mom, I have a lot of wisdom and grace under my belt that younger moms lack. Unfortunately, I think what I have discovered is that I just have 20 more years of living to please myself, a veritable fortress of self-absorption that stands between me and the kind of sacrificial living that is required for motherhood.

I never dreamed that I would be so completely enamoured of this little human! While I am driven to the brink of madness on a regular basis, I wouldn't trade one minute of my life with him in order to return to "freedom in singleness." He is perfect in every way. He is thoughtful and impulsive, cheerful and whiny, pensive and pulsing, focused and scattered. A few days ago, he slipped into an unusual spell of quietness and I worried the entire evening that something terrible had happened - that someone had wounded him and then threatened him, should he tattle on the evil-doer. But the next morning - and ever since - he has talked almost non-stop, chattering about everything under the sun, working his imagination overtime to discuss how rolls might rise on the moon, where there is no gravity to keep them in check; how we might re-locate our house and everything and everyone in our new Mississippi neighborhood to our old location and among our old friends in Missouri; demonstrating that his food is shaped like a light saber, his rolled-up pajamas a submarine, and his "precious, little camel" a falling star. Life is never boring for him.

And it's never boring for me, either. Exhausting, but not boring! He is a pressure-pot exploding with energy, and I am the slow cooker, set to low. He is a Ferrari on the Autobahn and I am a Studebaker on the boulevard. He is shooting stars and fireworks and I am the slow glow of the punk used to light them.

This year, we together undertook the adventure to move back to Mississippi to join my dad's ministry, which requires me to travel all around the world in ministry. Eventually, I hope that he will be able to join me all the time. For now, we home school and he is with me Stateside, while I am anxiously anticipating our first 3-week separation in February when I go to Africa. Tonight, we are on the road again, settled into a hotel on our way to our next destination. We'll be here only one night, but we've made a little nest for him in the room, in the car...home away from home.

I worry that he won't have the on-going, day-to-day relationships with the 300+ 2nd graders in the school he would attend. But then I laugh...do I really want him spending more than half of his waking hours, 5 days a week, under the influence of 300 seven year olds, 300 6 year olds, and 300 kindergartners? I think not! The advantages to this life far out-weigh the limitations, in my estimation. He is out-going and friendly, but has learned to set boundaries and find time for himself. He never meets a stranger and he is comfortable introducing himself to grown-ups, ordering his own meals in restaurants, and asking for assistance when he needs it. He is learning about our great nation by seeing it first-hand, and someday, he will get to see the rest of beautiful planet Earth in the same way. Yes, this is a good decision.

But tonight, after a full week of preparation for a long, 2-day conference, and beginning a 700 mile journey this morning, the day after the conference, I am feeling every bit of my "old mom" status. He is moving like a whirling dervish tonight, unable to be still. I am so tired I can't think straight. But we are together. We are family. And God has made it so. I wouldn't have it any other way!