Seeking Self, Part III

I had my first son when I was 20-years-old. I became a single parent two years later. My second son was born three months after that. 

An advantage to having kids at a later age is more time to get to know yourself, to learn what you like or want in life, to accomplish things, etc etc. 

While a big advantage to having children at a young age is having enough energy to actually contend with the little things. In reality, can we ever be young enough to have enough energy to compete with them?  You do lose the time where you get to figure yourself out before your life becomes totally about keeping someone else alive.  

This I missed. So for the last six and a half years, I have been a mother. A single mother with a full-time job. In the years when the rest of my generation has been graduating from college, falling in love, mooching from their parents, going to concerts, back-packing in Europe, joining the peace corp, beginning careers, buying houses and having kids--I have been raising kids, fighting to keep my kids, holding down the same job and working my way up the ranks, anguishing over which bills to pay and which to fall behind on.

I have been going to pediatric visits, parent-teacher conferences and school plays, putting out fights, cleaning up buckets of water after every single bath time. Seriously, what do they do in there? In the years where folks my age were most likely finding out who they were and picking lives, mine was already set on a course and I’ve been hanging on for dear life. 

So what happens through no effort of my own is that my kids and being a mother has been built into my DNA. When I ask who am I without them, the answer is, not Jen Amunategui. I can wish and think and imagine what my life could have been but the truth is, I would never have become the person I am today without having had my boys and lived the life I have lived. 

And the truth, furthermore, is that I like who I am. I don’t panic. I love ferociously. I protect my own. I know it will get better. I know I will survive. I can think on my feet. I accomplish what I set my mind to. I get what I want, most of the time. 

I have not withered under the weight of a life I never intended. I can fall apart when they are gone, not because I am a mess and completely screwed up, but because when they go, part of me goes. It is what it is. 

Their presence also adds a structure to my life, the value of which I greatly underestimate. We have routines, systems, calendars, rules. When they go away, I do whatever the heck I want, and I am frivolous with my time. Not every minute in the day is eaten alive and so I procrastinate more than usual. So maybe I miss that just as much when they are away as I miss their little faces. 

Do I take back any of my questions? Never. Do I think I’ll remember my own conclusions in the long run? Probably not. Do I really wish it all were different? Absolutely not. I mean, do I really want to start all over now? Dear heavens, no.