Yesterday, my two darling sons fought for verbal dominance as they eagerly harassed a fellow mom who had mistakenly shown interest in Minecraft. Their words tackled each other tumbling and sparring louder and louder to be heard till finally my youngest made a fist and hit his brother with his hand instead. They drive each other nuts.
Maybe its the three year age gap. I did try to make it smaller, I really did but fertility makes its own rules and time schedule. My oldest would happily sell his younger brother for a pack of Sour Patch Kids and laments loudly and often "Why did you have to have another kid?" The answer - because I grew up alone and lonely.
I was the sun to my parent's planets. Everyone emotionally revolved around me. I was the thing they fought over, the frayed rope in a knock out game of tug of war. I was it. The pressure to be everything, the golden child, the panacea to a broken marriage, the "Best thing they ever did" was suffocating. There was no one to share the avalanche of emotions they threw at me. And when they both died, there was no one to share my grief and the burden of death with.
I had everything and nothing. They spoiled me with Barbies and My Little Ponies. I was the only kid in my poor apartment complex with pocket money treating the rest of my friends to Funyuns and Dr. Pepper. Mixed motives paid the price of a movie ticket so I could bring a friend along to the movies. I honestly liked treating my friends, it made me happy, but I also selfishly enjoyed the movie more with someone by my side.
More often than not, the person by my side had to be my mom. Many of my friends had grandparents to visit during the summer with their sibling by their side or family vacations to go on or cousins to visit. I am nine years younger than my youngest cousin. So when I wasn't being babysat or sent to a camp I hated, I went to the movies with my mom or the museum with my mom or the mall with my mom.
I was the sun to my parent's planets. Everyone emotionally revolved around me. I was the thing they fought over, the frayed rope in a knock out game of tug of war. I was it. The pressure to be everything, the golden child, the panacea to a broken marriage, the "Best thing they ever did" was suffocating. There was no one to share the avalanche of emotions they threw at me. And when they both died, there was no one to share my grief and the burden of death with.
I had everything and nothing. They spoiled me with Barbies and My Little Ponies. I was the only kid in my poor apartment complex with pocket money treating the rest of my friends to Funyuns and Dr. Pepper. Mixed motives paid the price of a movie ticket so I could bring a friend along to the movies. I honestly liked treating my friends, it made me happy, but I also selfishly enjoyed the movie more with someone by my side.
More often than not, the person by my side had to be my mom. Many of my friends had grandparents to visit during the summer with their sibling by their side or family vacations to go on or cousins to visit. I am nine years younger than my youngest cousin. So when I wasn't being babysat or sent to a camp I hated, I went to the movies with my mom or the museum with my mom or the mall with my mom.
Occasionally, I went to my grandparent's house in Sun City West where I got dragged along to art shows and craft fairs and the swimming pool where I had to suppress all child-like behavior so as to not upset the senior citizens. I grew up old. I knew more classic Hollywood films than anyone my age and had an affinity for Mozart and watching the Golden Girls wedged between my mom and my Grandma Stina. I'm not complaining, entirely, I really enjoyed those things but it sets you apart from your peers who look at you weirdly when you don't know Duran Duran from Wham. And I missed being around someone my own age.
Even more so, I feel like my only child status now affects my sons' summer vacations and family gatherings. They have no young cousins to play with or pal around with since my husband is the virtual only child of his family being six years younger and getting married later in life than his brothers.
Now I am blessed that my beautiful half-sister, Lynn discovered me ten years ago but with half a globe between us I can't see her that often which kills me as we get on like a house on fire. Then there's an 11 year age gap in cousins there too.
So as much as my kids argue and battle to be player one on the Xbox, I figure at least they have someone to spar with. I figure its better than playing Atari by yourself. They can even complain together about how weird mom is. And maybe someday they will get along better. Maybe someday they'll have kids the same age who can pal around on family vacations to the beach and Disney cruises. I know the grass is always greener, and they envy my only child status. And most days, I'm the referee splitting cookies and attention between them. But I had to have two to see what life was like on the other side of the fence.
Even more so, I feel like my only child status now affects my sons' summer vacations and family gatherings. They have no young cousins to play with or pal around with since my husband is the virtual only child of his family being six years younger and getting married later in life than his brothers.
Now I am blessed that my beautiful half-sister, Lynn discovered me ten years ago but with half a globe between us I can't see her that often which kills me as we get on like a house on fire. Then there's an 11 year age gap in cousins there too.
So as much as my kids argue and battle to be player one on the Xbox, I figure at least they have someone to spar with. I figure its better than playing Atari by yourself. They can even complain together about how weird mom is. And maybe someday they will get along better. Maybe someday they'll have kids the same age who can pal around on family vacations to the beach and Disney cruises. I know the grass is always greener, and they envy my only child status. And most days, I'm the referee splitting cookies and attention between them. But I had to have two to see what life was like on the other side of the fence.
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