"It's just like having a baby!"

It's nine days until Mom comes to stay with me for a month -- three until I fly down to pick her up. Am I ready? Not in the slightest. Logistics-wise, I still haven't figured out where Mom will sleep. Downstairs in our chilly renovated basement (with me of course), far away from where my children sleep, upstairs? Husband is still working out of state during the week, so I see potential for midnight freakouts. Upstairs, where I will have to lock us in the bedroom to prevent nocturnal wanderings, and potentially a fall down the stairs? Yes, I considered a gate, but she's tall enough to fall right over it; her balance continues to grow worse, something we are hoping future meds might help as soon as she gets a firm diagnosis one way or the other.

It's a little like having another kid. I have even hired my ex-nanny, a capable and serene person, to help me out twice a week, or now and then when I need to take a break or buy groceries. I bought diapers. I hid bleaches and potential poisons and stashed throw rugs to prevent tripping. But I will need to rethink my schedule to accommodate Mom having to accompany us everywhere. My kids are at the age where they have a modicum of independence, so showers, errands and so forth are much easier; I've been spoiled.

Now, I'll have to regress and behave as if, say, I have a three-year-old again, plus two primary school kids. Lots of women do it, I encourage myself -- have three or even four kids that they manage not to kill, and even to feed and care for. Our town's librarian, with whom I am chummy, was telling me that people said to her about her 80-year-old dad, an Alzheimer's patient, "Now you know what it's like to have a baby!" (She has no children.)

We both had to hoot at that. Thing is, it's not like having a kid. Your kid will someday stop wetting itself, and will be able to verbalize its wants and needs, and stop having tantrums. Your parent won't. That element of temporary stress, of hope for the future, and unconditional love, keeps a mother going through the tough times. What's there for a daughter? Love, yes. And gratitude, and lots of duty.

Emotionally, I feel more secure about dealing. I'm getting better at realizing the best way to achieve goals is to, above all, remain calm, thanks in goodly part to yoga, and to just not giving a damn about most things anymore, which isn't making me a better person, but sure does help keep me sane. I'm not reading much news other than health; I forbade myself to think about trash and climate change and environmental toxins and taxes; I smile when someone cuts me off at school pickup. Surely this is the path to serenity.