Mothers Anonymous

My name is Andrea and I am the mother of an adult. Even though modern science deems him not yet fully formed--my son is 25 and recent findings suggest the human brain isn't totally cooked until 30--he is by all other measures a grown-up. I would not dream of holding him on my lap, telling him a story, wiping his runny nose, or doing any of a thousand other things mothers do for their offspring in the early years. My quandary is that I still care about him in a motherly way, certainly more than I care about other people, but am not permitted to express these feelings. If I were Italian I could make a nice lasagna, if he were not a vegetarian and if he lived nearby. But I am not and he is and anyway, he does not. So what to do with these nurturing feelings, impulses, instincts and desires? Until there are grandchildren, and there may never be, they will clog up my own brain, which at 66 is not only fully formed but may possibly be on the verge of a downward descent.

One or two of my frostier friends would no doubt expectorate an obnoxious laugh and advise, "Get over your kids, just like I got over mine!" Alas, I have not yet mastered that particular art. I wonder if there are others out there who feel the same. Until then I will stifle it, eat cookies when available, and mop the kitchen floor.