I’m going to confess something right now. While I’m truly always empathetic when talking to my friends about certain issues, in my head I would whisper, “Jen, this isn’t going to happen to you.”
Like a few years ago, when my older friends used to tell me about how hard it was to lose weight, I would agree, but tell myself how lucky I was to eat Dominos cheesy bread and not gain weight. (seriously, I would maybe give up the perfect orgasm for this cheesy bread) Or facial hair growth (Check out Mommy Is Shaving Her Face Right Now ) and that soon I too would obsess over chin hairs. But the worst was that their daughters had turned on them. That their close relationships were now reduced hellos in the hallways, short car rides to their destinations, and texts.
I listened, always knowing that my situations were different. Metabolism check, baby bottom face, check, and Julia and I, close as ever, even sitting for hours together rewatching our favorite Gossip Girl episodes together, discussing if Blake Lively is even real; pure bliss.
Could I have been that naive? Did I really think I was so immune? It just happened so quickly. The cheesy bread, I order it over the phone, five pounds on, the facial hair, could get approached by Ringling Bros. any day. And my relationship with my daughter….my relationship with my daughter. How about John Mayer write a song, Daughters Be Good To Your Mothers?
It started out very subtle, like looking at an Instagram or text, laughing, me asking what was up, and her saying, “don’t worry”. Or she would go straight to her room after school. Bedtime no longer a six hour ritual of reading, lying with her, telling her how much I love her, cuddling with her, asking her if she misses the closeness we had when I breastfed her. Then plans on Friday nights. Our night. Gone. And Julia knew just the right amount of pineapple to put in my drink. Then, without warning….Eye rolling, which I am always fascinated how good these young girls can do it. With each eye roll, it’s like they are saying, “Did you really just say that?” or “That’s strike two.” And it’s almost too painful too mention the slight Rhonda Rousey push out of her room.
Where is Paul Revere when you need him? The Bitches are coming. The Bitches are coming.
The worst cut of them all. Denial of the green screen. Every Bar Mitzvah Julia and I have attended we take a picture in front of green screen. Maybe its a New York City Pic, maybe Las Vegas. This past weekend, I may as well have taken one alone with a back drop of a park bench with me feeding pigeons. I was denied. She was running around with friends. I was like Miss Daisy.
But I’m okay. I’m going to be okay. Sure, Julia was always up for doing anything with me. Now, with my free time, I’m trying to get my son to let me in his fantasy football league. But I get it. I will get it. And I try to not take it too personally. I will try not to take it too personally. I did it to my mom, and Julia’s daughter will do it to her. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me, it’s more like the circle of life. It’s just that I didn’t know I would just be driving around in circles taking her places and picking her up. I thought it had more meaning like The Lion King.
But Julia needs to find her way before her way is back to me. So for now, I talk with food in my mouth. For now, I am not that funny. For now, my outfits aren’t always great. For now all I do is ask her to clean her room.
For now, I wait. And Wait. She will be back.
Maybe as soon as she finishes the new 90210 on Netflix.