Now that my six year-old, Azul, has incorporated the word “epic” into his vocabulary, I have a totally different view of the utterance.
I always used it in its traditional sense, a long poem of heroic deeds, such as, The Iliad and The Odyssey. That definition gives the word a romantic feel, something to ponder, it takes you on a journey to enjoy.
Webster defines it as:
1) a long narrative poem in elevated style recounting the deeds of a legendary or historical hero
2) a work of art (as a novel or drama) that resembles or suggests an epic
Today, either used alone or paired with “fail,” it has lost its perception of grandeur. No longer is it a beautiful way to experience a legend, but a word that is only defined as “big.”
I know many terms come in and out of fashion and have a circular life cycle; that makes me wonder if Homer was belittled by his peers who said, “Epic? Bahahaha! Dude that totally just means ‘big.’ ”
Although I am not willing to completely give up on the romanticism of the word, currently, anyone using or overusing “epic” just seems as if they have the vocabulary of a first grader, or they’re trying way too hard.
“That was epic!”
Now that the party, presents and celebratory eating out is over, reality is setting in — I am the mother of a six year-old. Whaaat?!
Getting used to saying I was someone’s mom in the first place was surreal to me. I was a first time mom at thirty-six and up to that point I was just “me.” For years there was no other title I held which connected me to anyone else other than myself.
I am convinced the reason we keep track of babies ages in months is so parents can slowly get used to being a parent, month by month. Once I was familiar with responding to being “Azul’s mom,” it was easy, I was his and he was mine, and like most parents, I wore my title with pride. I had no problem admitting I was a mom, not to mention I had an infant on my teat most of the day, so that kind of gave it away.
The transition from being a parent of an infant to toddler is an easy one, saying “my one year-old” is just as easy as saying “my two year-old” or “my three year-old.” Then there is four. This is the point where you realize that your baby is a little person and a personality starts to show (or rears its ugly head). Personality warps into budding independence and all of a sudden you have a “five year-old.” Looking back, this all seems to happen in the blink of an eye, but the fact remains, your connection to your child is still there, they are still just little guys who need you and you need them.
Your parenting grows with your child and both of you are still experiencing something new together. When you are five years into parenting, that’s exactly what it is, five years, a parent of a five year-old, and you think, “not bad, I’ve done this for five years,” with some sense of accomplishment. I’m not sure if it is the number or age or both, but at six something changes. Your baby is going to Kindergarten and is SIX! And the real kicker, not only is your child now six years old, you are six years older too. Ugh!
Azul is six and in school all day and I am forty-two! What happened? Is this what a mid-life or mid-parenting crisis feels like? Where did the time go?
I am sure there are more mid-parenting (although “mid” is deceiving) crises to come, but right now all I can do is let it sink in…I am the mother of a six year-old.