Only recently has it become less of a dreaded ordeal to take Scott with me when I go grocery shopping. I took him about a month ago and he was good company, so I've taken him more since.
He likes to ride in the grocery cart and examine the items I place therein.
When we got to the cash register the cashier smiled and made a few pleasant comments, the usual. Then he asked, "Your grandson?" "Nope. He's my son."
The first time I got the grandma question was when my older boy was about 9 months old. So I was 41. We'd had a major poop accident on a comforter that was much too big for our home washer and so I'd taken it to the local laundromat. Connor in his stroller and I sitting on a folding table, watching the dryer spin the fabric.
"Are you his grandma?" I looked up into the face of a young-ish woman, the kind who in country-western music terms looks like she'd 'done a lot of living'.
I said, "No, he's my son."
She slunk away immediately. Another woman close by snorted and said, "That's the kind of thing you want to hear."
I said, "But I AM old enough to be his grandmother." Encouraged, the first woman came right back. She said, "I had six, but I was 16 when I got started. Now I been fixed."
This morning Scott said, "Mommy, you're old. You look really old."
Sigh. So the days are gone where his love for me translates into me being 'beautiful'? I was living on borrowed time. It ain't gonna get better, kid.
He said, "You're 51. That's really old." (Funny. In a dream, just the other night, I was admitting to my father, that though I'm 50 and that used to seem really old, I FELT like I was only in my mid-thirties.)
I've been lucky to not be alone and isolated in my geriatric mother status. In St. Louis I quickly found a mother's group that was composed of mothers who were over 40. (It was called "Sarah's Circle". The name took its inspiration from Sarah, Abraham's wife, (mother and father of Israel) having given birth to Isaac long after her time for child-bearing was done. The La Leche League met at a local Presbyterian church in the Tower Grove neighborhood. The pastor's wife had played a strong role in forming the over 40's mom's group--she had naming rights. A very interesting discussion we had during one of our meetings centered around one member shyly asserting her atheism.) Back here in Portland at my sons' schools a quick glance informs me that most of these mothers are not teenaged mommies. So my sons probably aren't destined to be singled out for being the only ones with wrinkled moms and dads, as they probably won't stand out too much in a locker room for being uncircumcised.
I climbed out of the shower to search for some clothes for the day.
Scott: "Mommy, you're hot."
Well, at least he wasn't nauseated. Probably won't be long, though.