Old Mom

Nothing could make one feel older than being a mom over forty at the Provo City Library's story time. I actually didn't spot anyone who looked to be over twenty five. It was an accidental story time-Cecily and I went to check out books and happened upon it--and geared towards toddlers, but Cecily loved it and wanted to stay, and so we did. And I realized that I was slightly depressed by looking at all of the pregnant moms with toddlers and preschoolers not because I am old now, but because it brought back difficult memories from that terrifying and isolating time for me. I was not a happy young mother. Is anyone a happy new mother, or was it because I was so young and our life was so economically and geographically unstable then? Or because I hadn't discovered a treatment for my depression?

It was fun to sit there with Cecily on my lap and feel wiser than the other mom's there, to know that I wasn't going home to deal with putting three young children down for naps or to watch Teletubbies again. I miss my older girls terribly, and our lives have narrowed in scope considerably since their leaving, but it's nice to know for sure that there's life to be lived again after babies.