The things no one tells you about being an orphaned adult

My biological dad hasn't been around since I was 13.  I haven't seen him since I was 18.

I lost my mom in 2012 -- I was 32.  She was 55.

I also have no family.  My stepdad, who's been around since I was 7, but it's clearly he's pulling away from me and my kids.  My uncle, my mom's brother, who hasn't contacted me since the day we said good-bye to my mom for the last time.

Watching a tv show, where an adult's mom is comforting them, wrecks me.

Hearing my friends talk about their mom doing this or that with them, pains me.

I don't have anyone to tell me about my childhood stories.  More important, there's no one to tell my children.

I don't have anyone to call who can say "Oh, I remember when you...."

My children will never experience the amazing grandmother she would have been.

I can't call my mom for advice.  I can't get a hug from her when I just want to be a child and have my mom again.   I see that in my kids' faces -- they are young, of course, but that look.  That "I just need my mom and I need her to hug me and tell me it's all going to be okay" look.

I can't listen to certain songs.  As much as as I love my mother-in-law, and how grateful I am for all she does for me and my family, she's not my mom.  And I can't call her that, because I feel like it would be dishonoring my mom.

Losing a parent before you turn 50 is different than losing a parent after 50.  Chances are if you lose a parent after 50, they had a long, full live.  They are mostly likely in their 70s or 80s.  They've had the chance to be grandparents to your children, they've seen your children achieve things and seen you become a mother.

I ache for my mother to tell me I'm doing a good job.  To hear her say that she's proud of me, and the mother, wife, and woman I've become.  I thought we'd have more time.

Never, ever take your mom for granted.  I never imagined she wouldn't be here to see me turn 35.  I never imagined she wouldn't be at PJ's graduation from high school, at Maggie's wedding.

And never, ever, regret growing older.  It is a privilege denied to many.

Buy your own damn pictures.

Disclaimer:  I know.  I KNOW.  I've been gone forever, but I was inspired to blog today so shut the hell up.

Pictures.  They are everywhere.  School pictures.  Baseball pictures.  Soccer pictures.  Dance pictures.  Swimming pictures.  Family pictures.  Halloween pictures.

I'm sure there's tons more pictures of your children you've had taken, whether or not you have wanted to.

And they all get taken by some fancy photography studio.  And you have to choose what package you'll buy before you even SEE these pictures (unless you go to JCPenney, which I highly recommend) and hope that your kid is smiling, not picking his nose, not having three hairs stand up, or some other similarly horrifying thing that makes a bad picture.

And these packages??

Are RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE.

Why am I paying $8 for a 5x7 I pay $2 for at Walgreens?

Because you have to.  I mean, what kind of mom are you if you don't spend ridiculously amounts of money on posed pictures of your kid in various stages of life?

And that's fine.  I coughed up the $31 for the smallest package of baseball pics of PJ, along with a magnet.

But all you people?

"Oh I want a picture!"

"Can I have a picture?"

"So cute! Which ones for me?"

THE ONE YOU PAY FOR, ASSHOLE.

I come from a small family.  The only pictures my mom handed out were to my grandma, who we lived with, who took care of me, so of course she was entitled to a picture.

And I don't mind getting one for my MIL, because does a lot for us.

When my mom was alive, she'd pay me for the pictures she wanted.  Because she wanted copious amounts of pictures.

I married into a big family.  You want a picture?  Order one. Pay for it yourself.  Scan mine.  I don't care.  But I'm not ordering extras so you can put a $3 wallet in your wallet.