I can’t remember the last time I journaled. It doesn’t really matter. What does is I always end up coming back to writing my thoughts down.

My first little baby started middle school this week. I vary from feeling proud, and sad, and nervous, and excited, and so on. Ethan has been a trustworthy kid, but it’s scary as hell letting him out into the world alone. I want to protect him from anything and everything, but that’s impossible. He gets to be more independent and I have to allow him the freedom to do that; otherwise, he won’t grow up right. 

I had an epiphany that part of the reason I am feeling so weird is that most of the memories I have of when I was younger started in junior high. I don’t remember much of elementary school or before. But, I can vividly remember starting 6th grade and everything after. It’s probably because the summer before was traumatic. It’s when my family moved to Arizona, but without my mom.

Ethan’s childhood has been so different from mine. I always have these terrible intrusive thoughts that I am not a good enough mother—that I should be doing more or be doing things a differently. If I sit and really think about it though, none of that is true at all. I am a great mom. I do the best I can. More importantly, I always put those two boys first. I may not be a “trad mom” so-to-speak, but I am always there for them and always show them how much I love them.

I can’t remember the last time I saw or spoke to my mom. She stopped attempting to contact me. It’s fine. It is what it is. It just really blows my mind when I think of me&her and me&the boys. It’s easy to fantasize about what life might be like had you not had children. You think about what it’d be like to just do whatever and go wherever you want. The freedom. But, how can you just not want to see your kids for months on end? I guess a lot of dads are like that—only seeing their kid every other weekend or during the summer. You don’t see a lot of moms doing that though. As much as the boys’ dad gets on my nerves, I am grateful that he is so involved in their lives. I guess I’m still salty about it—even thirty years later.

But, she doesn’t matter. Ethan does.  I anxiously look forward to seeing how  much more he grows up.