I’m not a Mom anymore. Not really. I don’t have to fix meals, worried that if I don’t people will starve. I don’t do loads and loads of laundry all weekend. I don’t drive anyone anywhere. I don’t worry about what the school is doing. Or about homework. Or long-term adjustment. I hardly worry about anything with my kids anymore.
If you had told me 30 years ago, when I was in the thick of it, that I would miss those dirty diaper, snotty nose, sweet kisses days, I wouldn’t have believed you. But I do. I miss being Mom.