Wednesday, June 1, 2005. 9:45 p.m.
Approximately 38 weeks and 15 hours after it started, it was finally over. My pregnancy had ended and my journey into motherhood had begun. The room was abuzz with excitement and exhaustion. People were talking to me, but it wasn’t registering. Then my 8 lbs., 2 oz. baby boy was placed in my arms, and my world changed forever. He was sweating with fever, his big, beautiful eyes squinting with his screams.
My body went numb at the sight of him. Sometimes it still does. He still takes my breath away. I am still trying my best to comprehend how I could possibly ever deserve this remarkable, wonderful child.
Tomorrow he turns 6 years old. He has the same big beautiful, knowing eyes and a bigger smile. Two of his bottom baby teeth are gone, and the teeny body that they once told me was on the “lower average weight percentile” compared to his peers, is now solid and adorably chubby.
Those who have met my oldest son know that he is special, in ways that exceed a mother’s own biased perceptions. The child who I once feared and felt so helpless over and never quite forgave myself for not instantly connecting with…I now sit up at night to watch him sleep and hear him breathe. In the morning, he comes alive with curiosity, wild giggling, insightfulness and compassion. He equalizes the mood in the room and befriends those who need it most. His kindness is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
He radiates love and light, and I hope that he will do so for as long as the universe lets him. And I hope I get to bask in that light for as long as the universe lets me.
He keeps my world spinning.
Happy birthday, my love. Enjoy love, life and the animals in the clouds. I love you to the moon and back.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Ghosts
As open and honest as I am with the world, I do keep a lot of material "in the vault." Most of my writing, believe it or not, is just for the purpose of journaling and later reflection. And you know what? It helps. Even when I read things that were written from a dark place, it helps me to measure my growth and look back toward the light. That's life. And I'm living it.
The below piece is out of the vault. I'm not really a poet, so I'm not sure why I wrote it in such a way. But I understand this girl (me) better than she understood herself when she wrote it. I'm sharing it now. For those of you who are close with me, you will know that I did not write this piece about my ex-husband. For those of you who are not close with me, I will just say that I recovered from this in a big way, but that I still struggle. Because again, that's life. And I'm living it.
Here goes:
Hands clapped over my ears, trying to forget the echo of your stinging words
Second-guessing everything I’ve ever liked about myself. Everything I’ve ever known about myself.
One hand trying to push you away into oblivion, the other holding on to your every sound.
Letting you talk me into hating myself. Making me avert my gaze from the mirror, avoiding my own eyes.
Who am I if you don’t think I’m anything? Who am I if you don’t think I’m worth it?
A woman who so surely speaks truths and walks through fires, surviving, unnerved by your swagger, by your veracity.
Liquid hate cursing through your veins, spewing into my face, melting it beyond recognition. Taking away all. Taking out everything in your path.
I never let go of you for long enough. Maybe I need to hate myself. Or maybe trying to make you want me is my only distinguishable measure of success.
I affect you. You infect me.
Stop letting me ask you for more.
The below piece is out of the vault. I'm not really a poet, so I'm not sure why I wrote it in such a way. But I understand this girl (me) better than she understood herself when she wrote it. I'm sharing it now. For those of you who are close with me, you will know that I did not write this piece about my ex-husband. For those of you who are not close with me, I will just say that I recovered from this in a big way, but that I still struggle. Because again, that's life. And I'm living it.
Here goes:
Hands clapped over my ears, trying to forget the echo of your stinging words
Second-guessing everything I’ve ever liked about myself. Everything I’ve ever known about myself.
One hand trying to push you away into oblivion, the other holding on to your every sound.
Letting you talk me into hating myself. Making me avert my gaze from the mirror, avoiding my own eyes.
Who am I if you don’t think I’m anything? Who am I if you don’t think I’m worth it?
A woman who so surely speaks truths and walks through fires, surviving, unnerved by your swagger, by your veracity.
Liquid hate cursing through your veins, spewing into my face, melting it beyond recognition. Taking away all. Taking out everything in your path.
I never let go of you for long enough. Maybe I need to hate myself. Or maybe trying to make you want me is my only distinguishable measure of success.
I affect you. You infect me.
Stop letting me ask you for more.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Once Upon a Remote Control
"There's something I want to say, so I'll be brave. You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave. I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over, I'm not sorry there's nothing to save..." -Excerpt from the song, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" by Stars
The dream came exactly when I needed it. Born of a conversation about Life Rewind and Life Fast Forward buttons and the movie "Click" starring Adam Sandler. I said that sometimes I know exactly what I'd do if given yesterday's second chance with today's hindsight, and sometimes I feel like even if given the chance, I'd just freeze in my tracks, too afraid to try anything different.
Then I slept.
When I awoke in a dream, I found that my days were moving in reverse. It was an endless dream, always in motion. I watched my children grow younger. I saw my ex-husband's return. I saw myself re-impregnated and moving back to our old home. I watched as everything went backward, and my children disappeared from existence, my mother returned to my side, the years fell from my face, the pounds melted away and my body returned to a day when I still had a shot in hell at being a dancer. I slept in my childhood home, hugged and kissed my parents goodbye and hello. I wrote term papers. Friends came back to life. I danced in the night clubs and worked my day job at Busch Gardens. I was in a mixed state of panic and ecstasy when I finally found myself at a familiar door at a now-defunct apartment complex near my college's campus. I was suddenly frozen at that door. I knew what day it was. I knew I would walk in, and in the kitchen to my right would be my 19-year-old ex-husband, sitting alone, shy and calm. Ahead of me would be the rest of the party, college guys and scantily-clad college girls, drinking, laughing and dancing. My old friend appeared behind me and pushed me forward. Things had stopped moving backward. The door opened. I turned my head and looked at him. This is the part where I always used to tell myself I should've kept walking and not initiated a conversation. But he smiled and I smiled back, and I walked over as if pulled by a force field, and it occurred to me that I needed him to happen to me, and he needed me to happen to him.
It was all supposed to happen.
Regardless of what choices would eventually drive us back apart, we were supposed to connect at that party, he was supposed to stand by me through the loss of my mom, we were supposed to bring two beautiful lives into the world, and our separation was supposed to mean something to BOTH of us. We were soulmates that were not meant to stay together. We were best friends that were too toxic to each other to see it through. I had to be alone, be stronger, find out who I was. He had things to learn, too. And it is all okay.
Our dream conversation was different than the real conversation that took place at that party some 12 years ago. It was as if he had just watched his life in rewind, too, and had made peace with it all. We could go forward again and be okay. "Love you," he said. "Love you, too," I said. He took my hand in a gesture of friendship, and I woke up, with my 2-year-old son's hand in its place. I was relieved to have come back to reality so quickly, no matter how challenging that reality has so recently become. I was relieved mostly that I did not have to relive the 12 years that had built me and brought me to a quiet house on a humid Sunday morning.
I don't want a second chance at yesterday. I want a first chance at today.
We are forever linked, and that's okay. It's finally okay.
The dream came exactly when I needed it. Born of a conversation about Life Rewind and Life Fast Forward buttons and the movie "Click" starring Adam Sandler. I said that sometimes I know exactly what I'd do if given yesterday's second chance with today's hindsight, and sometimes I feel like even if given the chance, I'd just freeze in my tracks, too afraid to try anything different.
Then I slept.
When I awoke in a dream, I found that my days were moving in reverse. It was an endless dream, always in motion. I watched my children grow younger. I saw my ex-husband's return. I saw myself re-impregnated and moving back to our old home. I watched as everything went backward, and my children disappeared from existence, my mother returned to my side, the years fell from my face, the pounds melted away and my body returned to a day when I still had a shot in hell at being a dancer. I slept in my childhood home, hugged and kissed my parents goodbye and hello. I wrote term papers. Friends came back to life. I danced in the night clubs and worked my day job at Busch Gardens. I was in a mixed state of panic and ecstasy when I finally found myself at a familiar door at a now-defunct apartment complex near my college's campus. I was suddenly frozen at that door. I knew what day it was. I knew I would walk in, and in the kitchen to my right would be my 19-year-old ex-husband, sitting alone, shy and calm. Ahead of me would be the rest of the party, college guys and scantily-clad college girls, drinking, laughing and dancing. My old friend appeared behind me and pushed me forward. Things had stopped moving backward. The door opened. I turned my head and looked at him. This is the part where I always used to tell myself I should've kept walking and not initiated a conversation. But he smiled and I smiled back, and I walked over as if pulled by a force field, and it occurred to me that I needed him to happen to me, and he needed me to happen to him.
It was all supposed to happen.
Regardless of what choices would eventually drive us back apart, we were supposed to connect at that party, he was supposed to stand by me through the loss of my mom, we were supposed to bring two beautiful lives into the world, and our separation was supposed to mean something to BOTH of us. We were soulmates that were not meant to stay together. We were best friends that were too toxic to each other to see it through. I had to be alone, be stronger, find out who I was. He had things to learn, too. And it is all okay.
Our dream conversation was different than the real conversation that took place at that party some 12 years ago. It was as if he had just watched his life in rewind, too, and had made peace with it all. We could go forward again and be okay. "Love you," he said. "Love you, too," I said. He took my hand in a gesture of friendship, and I woke up, with my 2-year-old son's hand in its place. I was relieved to have come back to reality so quickly, no matter how challenging that reality has so recently become. I was relieved mostly that I did not have to relive the 12 years that had built me and brought me to a quiet house on a humid Sunday morning.
I don't want a second chance at yesterday. I want a first chance at today.
We are forever linked, and that's okay. It's finally okay.
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