I have mourned this. Some days, I feel a loneliness so vast I could fall into it. My "village" has scattered. The other soccer moms moved to Florida or got divorced and moved to the city. I text them sporadically. It's not the same.
At 50, something cracked open.
I am Rhonda, 50 years old, with the ability to finally not care. I don't need to be the hot mom at the soccer game. I don't need to impress the other carpool drivers. I need to make sure my aging mother takes her blood pressure medication and that my son, who just moved to Portland, remembers to eat something green. Let’s talk about the physical reality of being 50. My knees predict rain better than the Weather Channel. I have a drawer dedicated to reading glasses—one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, one that the dog chewed up. I have become intimately familiar with the term "perimenopause," a word that sounds like a geological era because it feels like one. Mom POV Rhonda 50 Year Old With
This article captures the first-person narrative voice (Point of View) of a 50-year-old mother named Rhonda, focusing on the psychological, social, and domestic shifts of being a "Generation X" mom in the modern era. By Rhonda M. (As told to The Midlife Almanac) I have mourned this
The Mom POV at 50 is a wide-angle lens. I see the past—the sleepless nights of 1998 when my daughter had croup. I see the future—the potential of a quiet house, a garden I actually have time to weed, a novel I keep saying I'll write. And I see the present, which is mostly just me trying to figure out what to make for dinner that doesn't involve chicken. My husband, Dave, is also 52. We have been married for 28 years. For a solid decade between 35 and 45, we were excellent business partners in the firm of Child-Rearing LLC. We traded shifts. We divided laundry. We communicated via text about who was picking up the antibiotics. The other soccer moms moved to Florida or
I am not done. That is the point of this POV.