50-something Moms Blog

One Giant Leap Forward for Mom-kind, One Small Step Backward for NBC

When my mother was raising 5 kids in the "prime" of her motherhood years--during the 50's and 60's--mothers were relegated to the margins of society.

Like cattle heading to the milking pens, women were "prodded" and "corralled" into having families and giving freely of their "milk" until their teats ran dry, the kids left home, and some of their husbands left for younger women. They were expected to sacrifice their desires, dreams, and personal freedoms in order to take care of their families, and to feel so fulfilled in this role that any other personal dreams withered on the vine.

Many of those moms felt isolated within a nuclear family structure that provided little room for companionship while they tended to their little ones, and offered no understanding, comfort, or outlets for discussing how they felt about being mothers. And many longed for the fulfillment of dreams that never saw the light of day. My mother was one of those women. She would have loved to have the opportunity to pursue some of her own dreams.

Thank you, Maria Shriver!

Last night I went to a private book signing for Maria Shriver's new book "Just Who Will You Be?." And, boy, was she dazzling. Yes, dazzling. There's just something about her. Maybe it's that magical Kennedy charm that all the members, including extended members, of that clan seem to have. Whatever that "it" energy is, she's got it. (My husband has "it", too. I wish I did. Never have, never will, I'm afraid.)

Ms. Shriver spoke easily and honestly about her personal life. She spoke about the difficulties of transitioning to motherhood after being a career woman, of holding onto her own identity and interests after her husband, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Governor of California, became elected, and trying to find some quiet time for herself as a mother of 4 children. She is a woman who has "been there and done that" when it comes to meeting the challenges of a 21st Century mother, wife, and  career woman.

She also spoke about her own identity crisis that happened in her 50's (she is 52). She described how she lost her identity once her husband became governor and she became First Lady. She could no longer work as a journalist because of a conflict of interest and, as a result, she had a difficult time defining herself as a person. Boy! Can I relate to this! (ummm...not the part about being a First Lady and having a governor as a hubby....)

When I gave birth to my twins 3 years ago, I went through an identity crisis of my own that lasted ohhhh...3.5 years! After I gave birth the bottom fell out of my plans to become a marriage and family therapist, some friendships fell by the wayside, I had a falling out with some family members, etc.. I felt like a failure. My life not only wasn't working out the way I planned, it seemed to be falling apart right before my eyes. But, after reading  Ms. Shriver's book I realize now that everything had a purpose .

I had never experienced an identity crisis before so I didn't understand that that's what was happening to me. All I knew was that even though I had finally achieved my dream of becoming a mother after ten long years, the rest of my life had been turned upside down. I experienced postpartum depression, I felt like I didn't know who I was anymore, and I had no idea what I was going to do "for the rest of my life." I didn't realize it at the time, but I was in the middle of a personal transformation that would change who I was and what I wanted from my life. 

I have always felt like I knew who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. I changed my mind every couple of years, but isn't that the American way? I grew up in the 70's and 80's...I was trying to find myself--yeah, that's it. The reality is that I had no idea what I wanted or who I was. I was just trying to follow along with the script that I had learned growing up--leave high school, get a career, be successful, get married, have children. And I almost achieved it! Until my life went kaplooey! And, on top of everything, I was going through perimenopause_____!!!

My menses is saying "Goodbye"

Well, it's finally happened. I skipped a period. My menses is on its way out and I am on my way to menopause. Or, am I already there? It's quite confusing, actually. There's premenopause, perimenopause, menopause, and postmenopause. I mean, do we really need so many pauses? Who can keep track? Why can't we just say "our periods are on their way out?" Seems simple enough.

I have mixed feelings about my periods ending. I am at once sad and glad. My relationship with my menses has been a tumultuous one throughout the years. Sometimes I felt close to her  and identified with her, other times she was like a stranger to me. I have experienced many different feelings towards, depending on what my goal in life was at a particular time, how I was feeling, how young I was, etc.

Sometimes I looked forward to my periods ending, what with all the moodiness, tampons, underwear that had to be thrown away because I wasn't prepared when my period started, cramps, etc. Sometimes I viewed my period as that part of me that made me female, and desirable. Then there were the times during the 10 years I was trying to get pregnant when she felt like the enemy. A missed period signified

Change of Life. Change of Direction.

The year I turned 47 was a significant year for me. It catapulted me into a major life change that I had not expected. It was like a major seismic event and, just like an earthquake, I did not see it coming. Life as I knew it completely changed in all directions: my social support system swayed and crumbled like the Oakland Bay Bridge in the 1989 California Earthquake, my career dropped out from under me like a trap door, and my identity morphed into something I did not recognize. It felt like life as I knew it was over. I didn't recognize my life anymore. I wasn't the same person. And I didn't like it.

Here's the run-down of events that transpired in the years since I turned 47 (just 3 years ago!):
- I gave birth to twins and cared for them alone (except for DARLING husband)
- I entered peri-menopause
- I lost a handful of friends
- I aborted my MFT (Marriage and Family Therapy) degree program just short of the finish line
- I moved to Oregon
- I had a "falling out" with my sister
- I gave up my loyal, loving, "first-child" dog, Sheba
- I moved back to California
- I am now a--gasp!--renter, instead of a homeowner (well, we own our house in Oregon but not the house we live in)

Too young to have a mother that old

Oy! That's all I have to say after reading this article by Colette Bouchez in the December issue of the Los Angeles Times.

Obviously, one of the things I worry most about as an older mother (actually, motherhood in your middle years is apparently called "late motherhood"--well THAT makes me feel good...) is how my twins will feel growing up with an older mom. I've already seen the signs of ageism in my kids, even when they were toddlers (really!). When they were around younger moms they interacted with them more and seemed to shun me (okay, I may be exaggerating a bit here, but that's how I felt...one COULD say that I'm super sensitive to this issue... :). My son, for sure, prefers the younger (and hotter looking) moms over me and he's only 3! But, then again, who can blame him?

Youth still calls to me....

As those of you know who read my last blog post, I turned 50 last month. Quite a milestone. You would think after turning 40 that I would have gradually gotten used to the idea that I'm not a "spring chicken" anymore. But instead of accepting the inevitable, I find that the call of youth remains a siren song for me. I just can't seem to get rid of it's whiny reminders of how I'm not young anymore. And if I don't watch out I'm going to crash against the rocks of my internalized ageism like a love-smitten sailor and spend lots of money trying to "fix" my age. I've already bought every possible age cream known to woman and have tolerated the red splotches on my face (not to mention the skin irritation) that come along with each new attempt to "erase my wrinkles" in order to get my young self back again.

Then there's my body. Sheesh! My metabolism seems to have gone into a coma. I swear I could subsist on lettuce, bread, and water and STILL gain weight! It's a frustrating and demoralizing phase-of-life change to have been the "perfect" weight (of course, I didn't realize it was perfect at the time) before my 40's and then  stare in disbelief as the pounds began creeping up on me like some giant slow-walking centipede. Now I understand why it's called "middle age"--because that's  .

Older moms have more patience...right?

Well, I turned 50 last week. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT!...as Quincy would say from Little Einsteins (you won't know who that is unless you have toddlers). 50 years old and a mother of 3-year-old twins! Holy moly! (I have no idea what "moly" means but it's a traditional family utterance of shock/horror/surprise that sounds better than some other 4-letter words I can think of, so I'll keep it.) Or, as Dr. Phil would say "What were you thinking?!"

Well I, like many other women who are now moms, wanted to be a mom. It looked like fun as far as I could tell from the safe distance of my "doing what I damn well please" child-free life ("free" being the operative word here). And girl, did I work hard for this privilege! (Don't misunderstand me...it is a privilege and I am happy being a mom--when I'm not in the midst of a perimenopausal/50 something/toddler-crazed/feeling like I'm going to drive off the nearest cliff if I hear one more scream/cry/whine/NO!!!/I do it myself!!! phase.) Who knew it would take so long and that I would be 47 when I became a mom for the first time.

The question is...do I have more patience as an older mom than a younger mom has? Hmmm....ummmm...NO! At least, I don't think so. It's difficult to know when every mom you meet (especially the younger ones) are desperately trying to project the perfect "I love everything my child/baby does!" mom veneer and rarely, if ever, admit to losing their patience with their children.

But I don't feel like I have as much patience with my children as I "should" "at my age." Maybe it's because of the "older moms are more patient" stereotype. Or maybe it's the nagging mother-guilt voice that's