Current Malaise

Primero’s mom told me he was spoiled. It ruffled my feathers a bit. My intention is not to raise spoiled brats who have no sense of appreciation for anything and feel entitled to everything. I would say, that’s the total opposite of what I would want to do. I’ve been accused of spoiling all the kids, of giving them things and experiences, attention and precedence that overshadows my own needs many times. I will be the first one to tell you, the children come first in my life. That’s what parenting is all about, isn’t it? And I don’t think I’ve dipped into the scary place where I’ve lost all my own identity and neglected my own needs to the point where I’ve depleted my reserves. I still do nice things for myself, like get a pedicure or buy a new (unnecessary) purse – it was on sale and so cute for summer, with a butterfly… But, I digress. 

 

I think the reason it rankled so much to hear Primero’s mother declare Primero spoiled is because she gets the one thing I can’t have. She is and always will be Primero’s biological mother. She gets the title. She gets the undying devotion. I do all of the work, the running to and from events and social engagements, checking grades and contacting teachers, making doctor appointments, disciplining, doling out chores and assignments, coaching and guiding and listening and just simply being there. I am always there. But, I’m never mom. It’s not something I will ever truly be ok with. It is always something that hurts, an internal damage that can never fully heal. Do I spoil him because I hope it might change my title? I’d love to respond a resounding “No!” but I’m really not sure. When I was talking to a friend about a similar topic, she suggested I not be there as much as I am, that I try to pull back a bit and not pursue Primero so hard, but let him come to me. The problem is, I don’t know how to do that. I show love by being there, that’s how you know I care. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t show up. It’s something I learned from my parents as a child. My parents were always there. They were there for sporting events, school programs, 4-H shows, parent-teacher conferences, my parents were always there. I can’t not be there for Primero. He is going to be in a talent show at school. I will be there cheering him on. In my mind, he has gone so long without having someone be there, present at his important functions, unless I’m incapacitated, I don’t see how I couldn’t show up. Teenagers, by their very nature, take their parents for granted. Not that they shouldn’t be taught to appreciate what others (including their parents) do for them, but in my mind, it’s a sense of comfort and attachment for teens to take their parents for granted. And, it’s a sign of maturity when they stop! But, for all my being there I feel very insignificant in Primero’s life. He relies on me to do what I say and show up when I say I will and I’ve never given him a reason to doubt that. And I guess I don’t want to start now. 

 

I’ve heard the saying, “For every great kid there’s a mom who thinks she messing it all up.” Primero is a great kid. He’s loyal and kind to his friends and family. He is forgiving and compassionate in ways I wish more people would consider. He is doing much better in school this year and seems to be thinking about his future in a more positive way. He isn’t into drugs, he doesn’t sneak out to parties, and he is (usually – I mean, he is a teenager after all) respectful. I think, when I found out last month that he had hacked into my personal conversations on Facebook, it really shook me and created a fissure of distrust inside of me. If I can’t trust my own son, who can I trust? And maybe it wouldn’t have affected me the way it did if I hadn’t been raked over the coals with everything that happened with Esperanza, I don’t know. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it this way, but it certainly doesn’t help to hear Primero rejecting his new last name at every turn. He was massively upset that his new insurance card came with just my last name on it. I called and got it changed to his correct two last names, only my last name is 13 letters all by itself, so there wasn’t enough room to fit it all on. My last name was shortened and Primero stated he likes the shortened version much better and might try to just use that. On Sunday he was getting a haircut and we couldn’t remember what name was used the last time he was there. It turns out they had his old last name and my last name. Again, he was upset, insisting his mother’s last name be added and used. During the exchange he professed ignorance in spelling my last name, even though I’m fairly certain he knows how to spell it. I get that my last name is a mouthful, but it’s not a bad last name. And, he did choose to use it. I warned him it wouldn’t be easy using two last names when one of them is as long as mine is. I think he regrets taking my last name. And to me, that feels like rejection. My last name isn’t good enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not his mom. I’m just there.

I don’t know what causes my current malaise over Primero because honestly, things are going well. It might be more of a “me” problem than anything else, so something I need to work on. I doubt very much he’s clued into the feelings I shared above. If anyone asked him, I’m fairly certain he would respond that things are going well and that’s a good thing. I can keep my personal neurosis in check, thank goodness. And, so as not to leave this post on a bleak note, I will share a little something than warms my heart and soul. Last night I was sitting on the couch trying to relax after our long walk following dinner and the dishes. I had the TV on and Chica Marie was draped across my lap watching Sponge Bob. Love Bug saw her on my lap and got jealous, so he crawled up onto my other knee. Not to be out-done, Chica Marie kissed my left cheek. Imitating his big sister, Love Bug leaned in a planted a slobbery wet kiss on my right cheek. They then alternated kissing my cheeks as I squeezed them close in a bear hug and kissed them back. It was about the sweetest thing ever and one of those moments I wish I could bottle and pull out at will.