September 17, 1986
As a kid I told people I wanted to be a mother when I grew up. Not one of those people ever told me being a mother involved so much waiting. Not only is nine months a long time, but waiting for a colicky baby to fall asleep can seem like an eternity. Then there is the waiting room at the pediatrician’s office and the long wait for the end of the first day of school.
As the children have grown older I find I’m being told more and more often to wait.
“Dinner is ready”,
“Wait, this is the best part of the program”.
“Get your homework done”,
“Wait, I’m in the middle of a game”.
“Clean your room”,
“Wait, I’m talking on the phone”.
“Clear the table”,
I wonder how many days of my life have been spent waiting for shoes to be tied, hair to be curled and minds to be made up about what to wear, what to buy and whether to eat.
I’m sure I could have read “War & Peace” twice in the time I have spent in my car waiting for events and meetings to be over and everyone to finish running back and forth from the car to the house gathering up forgotten items.
My eight year old says she “can’t wait” until she grows up and has kids of her own. I guess it’s good that she’s getting in the practice now.