The Mixed Feelings of Motherhood

            There’s something so bittersweet about the anticipation of my first born’s graduation from high school. I've been reflecting so much lately. I remember thinking,  "I just have to get him out of high school and I’m good”. But looking at him on the verge of 18, I start to think:  it’s not enough, but it will have to be enough.  In a couple of month’s, he will be a legal adult, able to make his own decisions. And while I can offer my opinion and give my unsolicited advice, in the end, it’s his choice, his life. That is hard for me because he’s been my baby for so long.

            Since the day I found out I was pregnant with him,  most of my life’s big decisions have been centered on what would be best for him. I changed my major, trading the unstable writing world for a more secure career in social services; I bought a house an adjacent town from where I grew up, so my son could be away from gangs and street violence; I pursued my dreams, not just for me, but so that he could see it could be done.  I worked two jobs so he would not want for anything; I took him with me when I worked with those were less fortunate so he could appreciate what he had. Most people look at him and think I've done a pretty decent job, me and my village of course. But lately, I've felt a sense of resentment towards his father resurfacing that I had long vanished.

            While trying to get my master’s degree and working 2 jobs, and struggling with my new home ownership responsibilities, I became frustrated that he had not been leading by example, or spending quality time, or providing financially since we broke up when my son was three. It took until my son was 11 to begin to let it go, forgive. But still, every now and then when I gave my son my last 10 bucks for lunch money, or if I saw his father in a brand new coat, or heard about him having another child, I became incensed. My son was his first child, and he was 21 with a high school diploma and an able mind and body when my baby was born, but he chose street life over being a present parent.  So I’d get upset, then I’d get over it because that’s what mothers do. As my son became more dependent and older, I had to deal with his fatherless, so the resentment became dormant. Besides, I had my father, who was doing more than his share to help raise him.

  Now that this momentous event is upon us, I feel that resentment brewing again. Why? Because now I have another son, a toddler, and because his father is present, I get to be the soft, nurturing mommy. Daddy can be the stern baritone voice, and mommy can be… mommy.  I was once that way with my older son, but then when the realities of the world set in, when I saw my boy growing into a Black man, an endangered species in America, fear crept in. I had to be tough, I had to be on his back. I had to teach him about sex, how to behave if pulled over by the police, model work ethic, school him about the streets; I had to be the crazy mom to show up if he wasn't where he was supposed to be. I feel like I was robbed of being the pushover mom... the sweet mom I wanted to be because his father didn't step up. 

Now he will be there on graduation day, and at the party, and I honestly have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, that is his father, and I've never discouraged their relationship, despite my feelings.  On the other hand, he will get to celebrate something he had NO PART in making happen. And that has me feeling… “Some type of way.”  But I guess I’ll get over, because that’s just what mothers do.