It's Been a While!

I ... barely even remember how to make a blog post. Isn't that sad? It was once something I did on a near-daily basis (and sometimes twice if it came down to either writing or completely losing my shit). I hope I'm doing this right. 

But even if I am ... are you still out there? Am I talking into the same void I was talking to when I started this blog way back in 2009, when I was pregnant with my third son and wearing crusty sweatpants and desperately hoping for connection?

(Over)sharing stories about my kids and myself was how I got through my days back then, coping with stay-at-home mom life to a gaggle of little boys. I look back on it now and think, how did I ever do it? And there is no real answer, except to say that laughing at it helped. "If I don't laugh I'll cry" and all that.

Now my kids are teenagers. Nearly grown men! My youngest, my baby, is turning 12 in a few short months. I went from "Mommy" to "Mom" to mostly "Bruh" these days (if you know, you know). I went from wiping butts and wiping tears to doling out $20 bills like an ATM and saying "Take your brother to football practice." But I can't tell you about them any more, at least not the way I used to, because they're teenagers and their stories have become their own (and, like every other mother of teens, I'm embarrassing). I can tell you that I'm so proud of each of them that it hurts. They're awesome, despite the parenting missteps that I still feel Mom Guilt about. 

Believe it or not, the teenage years aren't actually that bad; just different. I hate to tell you, because it always pissed me off to hear this when my kids were little, but the "bigger kids, bigger problems" adage is true. And so is "the days are long, but the years are short." Hey man, I'm just the messenger. 

A couple of my boys have jobs. A couple of them have long-term girlfriends. A couple of them have legal permission to operate a motor vehicle (GASP). They are smart, and funny, and kind. Their varied personalities absolutely fascinate me. Don't get me wrong — they do yell at Fortnite and roll their eyes and get into wrestling matches on a regular basis (yes, still) — but overall, they are doing great. 

And so am I. 

I mean, I'm old now (43), but I guess with age comes contentment, because I'm happy with my station in life in a way I never was when my kids were little. I have a legitimate career; "Ten Boy Mom Musts" put my dorky little blog in front of a bunch of eyeballs, and led me first to a job as a freelance writer, then a staff writer, then an editor. My current position is Parenting Editor at SheKnows (please go look at our amazing site and then tell all your friends!) and I'm in constant awe that I finally made it here. I spent the first half of my thirties feeling like an abject failure because I didn't have a "job", not realizing that giving my kids a childhood they look back on fondly was actually the most important job of all. I realize that now, but more importantly, I also realize that it's never too late to be the professional you always dreamed of being. If you're young, and you feel like you're not doing anything with your life ... please remember that.

Does anybody recall this post, wherein my husband went to New York City on a business trip and kept sending me fabulous pictures of his adventures? In return, I sent him pictures of mine: the teething four-month-old. The sink full of dishes and mounds of laundry. The mysterious head injury that no one fessed up to causing.

Well, the tables have turned. Because a couple months ago — 11 years after I wrote that post, almost to the day — I went to New York City on a business trip. And I (very gleefully) sent my husband pics like this:

Professional head shots (wearing a blazer)! An actual desk in a real-live office! A pretzel bigger than my head! Dreams do come true, folks.

Anywho, I just wanted to pop in here for an update ... if anybody is listening and/or cares. I really should get back to blogging regularly, for myself if nothing else. And since I can no longer complain quite as freely about my children, maybe I'll talk about the general weirdness of being in my forties. Or how, when I think about how few years I actually have left with the boys under my roof, I feel like someone punched me in the gut. Because no matter what job title I hold, the first and foremost has always been Mom. 

... Or, you know, "Bruh".