Yesterday I took Cora to the park and a mother pulled up shortly there after. Her 8 year old son jumped out, she left the car running and soon followed him. Eventually Cora realized there was a big kid to follow around and the mother and I started chatting. She asked how old Cora is, mentioning her 14 year old daughter was sitting in the car. The daughter, deciding she is to old for such things, would rather sit on her phone. The mother saying how frustrating it can be and how much she misses the age Cora is now. How the time flies.
Is Cora your only child?
This should be an easy question but it never has been for me. In the past when it was just Rebecca and I, I would pause. I would pause because my journey of parenthood isn’t relatable. Parents ask normal follow up questions that I can’t simply answer without them becoming curious or asking further questions and what was supposed to be mindless chatter then becomes something further.
Here I was, standing with another mother, who had a same age child and we should have been able to share conversation. She couldn’t relate to me though. I glanced at her daughter sitting in the car and wanted to say “At least she isn’t pregnant.” But instead I glanced away and said “Yes, Cora is my only child.”
It has always been an odd questions for me to answer and part of me feels guilty for just saying this is my only child, digging in the sand. I’ve lost one little girl to heaven early, I’ve lost another to strange life circumstances and yes, this is my one little. This mother didn’t care about my motherhood journey though. She was just making small talk, as our children played, on a beautiful Monday afternoon.
We all have our own parenting struggles, our own journey. Hell, maybe this mom had one of her own but glossed over it just as I had. Good thing we don’t have our life stories stamped on our foreheads. There are a million ways motherhood can be tough, this is just one of mine.