Perspective Shifting

Usually, when I buy a new car, I try to pick a color that is a bit unique. Of course, that's generally impossible, unless I'm up for a custom paint job. But inevitably, once I pick a color, it seems like there's more of that color car than any other. And I'm momentarily disappointed, until common sense returns and I realize that it only seems so prevalent because I'm actually paying attention.

When I first got my license and drove around Strongsville on my own (on my hour-long trips to the grocery store to pick up milk for my mom), I would look around at the other drivers and know I was one of the youngest drivers out there. It was special, realizing I had joined this elite group - adults. And it humbled me, made me feel young, right when I was feeling so grown up because I was joining their ranks.

I kept driving, and didn't think much more about it, until one day many years later, when I looked at the driver of some random car and thought, "Holy crap, that kid is too young to be driving!" I was still the same person, still younger than a majority of drivers. But suddenly, in my twenties, I found that my ranking as the runt of the driving litter was overtaken by a whole new generation of drivers.

I must admit here, I think, that I have liked each year of my life better than the year before. Sure, there are years that have sucked - like when my mother-in-law was diagnosed with and underwent treatment for breast cancer, so in retrospect, if I were plotting a graph with Year on one axis, and Happiness on the other, that year would have had a definite dip - but I'm not one to dwell in misery for long, and will instead find the positive (like discovering The Gathering Place for my mother-in-law and looking for ways to help her) and try to make the most of any moment (or keep busy enough to not notice).

So when I found myself thinking young drivers look too young, I didn't despair and think 'oh my, I'm so old!' I just laughed at myself for being so stunned at the concept of aging, and carried on.

My youngest child will be 5 this summer. And I'm thrilled. My husband loves the baby and toddler years, and bemoans the passing of that era (though he agrees that we're DONE!!!!!). But me? I'm not so sad. I took pictures and videos. I wrote anecdotes in my journals. I can wander down memory lane whenever I like. And I am so loving who they're becoming, loving the development of independence, and especially appreciating all the potential they have to hold interesting conversations and to share experiences (like reading the entire Harry Potter series together), that I don't regret for a minute that the years when I had to tend to their every need are ending. And really, if I miss cuddling with a baby, that's what friends are for.

We had a couple come over for dinner earlier this week with their 5 month old. The mom was feeling bad because they happened to have come during the baby's Witching Hour (in our house, that was roughly 6-8pm, leading up to bedtime. That was roughly the same for this kid). She kept apologizing about all the crying and fussing, until I reassured her that for me, as a mom of 3, I just fully appreciate that it's "not my kid". It truly doesn't bother me at all when someone else's kid cries or fusses. I'm happy to help, and I feel bad for the kid and parents being miserable, but it certainly doesn't bother or annoy or irritate or irk me at all. It's not my kid; my kids don't need me at the moment; I can relax. I can CHOOSE what to do with my moment. Mind you, I do spend most of my week "choosing" to go drive the kids around the Greater Cleveland Area to soccer practice/games, doctor's appointments, and/or school functions, but that's beside the point.

Nonetheless, while I have been thoroughly enjoying, for the past year or so, being able to hop in a car with my boys and just take off on a whim, without having to worry about packing a diaper bag or snacks or anything, it was a strange feeling earlier today when I drove past someone pushing a stroller and realized, not just that I no longer have one or need one (a stroller), but also that I probably don't know this person, because most of my friends are post-stroller. The mom looked young to me. Not teenage-mom young, but mid-twenties young. I moved here ten years ago, seven months pregnant with my first child. Until now, I equated Cleveland Heights with being a mom, and even if I didn't recognize someone pushing a stroller, I knew that somehow I was connected to that person - either through the Heights Parent Center, one of my neighbors, (later) through my kid's school, or just from living in the area. But now, while I still do know some stroller-pushers, I am no longer part of their ranks. I am now officially a Sophomore Parent.

And no, I don't know when I'll move up next. I'll let you know when I get there.