Mama bear

I want to eat something.

Something that perturbs me.

Or worries me. Or makes me enraged.

Tear it stem from stern.

Devour it in three gargantuan bites.

It won’t make me feel any better, I know.

If it doesn’t trigger a gag reflex the feted feelings will just lead to more agita.

Its acids will burn in my gut until I regret every morsel I’ve ever wolfed down.

Keep me up at night, pacing the floors just like when they were small.

They are only with me in my imagination as I meander. There is nothing in my arms but a thickening layer of my own flesh. I wonder when that happened? Probably the same time as the proud flesh spilled over at the waistline and hem edges, reminding me of the dichotomy that comes with aging - the comfortable discomfort of whatever gets tacked on as extra.

Even though we always know what’s coming it’s always a surprise.

Middle age is a wonder.

At least it feels that way to me.

Especially now that I know aging is not a mystery. It isn't something so foreign that I almost expected never to experience its effects. 

“La dee dah dee dah.” And other lies we tell ourselves.

“We’ll never grow up.”

“We’ll never find love”

“We’ll never get married.”

We’ll never have kids.”

“We’ll never get old.”

Of course, we thought we’d never get old – we’d never have hot flashes or brain fog, or the sinking feeling that we would be losing the plot of our own stories – not one of our mothers ever spoke about menopause.

But here it is … The Change.

Still, it’s hard to wrap our Present heads around the Future.  

You know there will be graduations, and weddings, and retirements, and maybe a few grandkids. Not that I am pushing any such agenda.

Instead, I spend that time in hopes that funerals are few and far between; and that they don’t directly involve myself or any of my loved ones.

We may feel like we have all the time in the world … but the clock is ticking faster.

Or maybe, I just want to sleep through this part of the season.

Hibernate while the cubs go off into the scrub.

The last baby has his first mortarboard in hand and is almost ready to motor.

He has plans that go beyond childish dreams.

The world is waiting. But I know it won’t chew him up. Or at least I hope it won’t.

I remember that feeling of wanting to eat him … that strange expression of early motherhood that translated into some unspeakable emotion - like loving a thing so much that, with heart filled, teeth clenched, adrenaline pumping, you might just gobble them up.

I wish I could still be that mama bear.

Yet despite how tempting that might be, now is the time for that impulse to hibernate.