When I was a girl I dreamed of being a mom, having a family. Other girls talked about having careers, traveling, making their mark in the world. I knew my mark would be nothing more or less than a little house with a garden, full of family. I made it happen at a very young age…. of course, I’m still working on the yard, and I’m not even close to the garden, but I got my family.
When I had my first baby I really didn’t know what I was in for. As she grew inside of me I fell in love. With every hiccup, each stretch. I was a buddha, a holy woman, a vessel for this perfect being. And she was perfect, so small I could cup her little bottom in my hand as I cuddled her against my neck. She became my life, and for the next few years every decision I made was based on her future and my dedication to grow up, get smart, and give her a beautiful life. Named for a champion, as she steps across the void into adulthood, she is poised to be a powerful woman.
My second daughter joined us seven years after the first. Where the other was teensy, she was an amazon, even as a baby. She is an adventure, everything she sees and experiences is an amazing moment, and every amazing moment must be experienced to the fullest. As she ventures into the tumultuous territory of the teenager, I wish more than anything that I could protect her sweet heart, which she wears on her sleeve.
My son… my Sun… came after another nine years. I waited for him so impatiently, as I watched my daughters grow I missed this little mythical creature with every fiber of my being – before he was ever conceived. I was forced to lie still and wait for him for almost the full nine months that he lived in my body, just me and the fetus, resting on the air mattress in the living room, feeling eachother move, stretching to get out of eachothers way, and hiccuping (there are those hiccups again). My son teaches me what I have forgotten after the last eighteen years of being ever so responsible. Every thing is new, and good, and magical. Except when it isn’t, but I try to take my cue from him now, and let those moments slip from my memory as soon as I find something that is new, and good, and magical.
There is also a husband in this story. The husband makes me coffee every morning and packs my lunch as he sends me off to work. The husband does more than his fair share, rarely complains (at least not loudly), and loves our children at least as much as I do.
I have been a mom for more than half my life. My eighteen year old daughter was born when I was sixteen and I tried desperately to stop being a kid, and to magically understand how to be a good mom. Every day I pray that I will succeed.
So, those are my babies, and that is my husband. My Universe. My Sun, My Moon, My Starlit Sky, and the Gravitational force that keeps us all together.
Who am I?
Sometimes I’m a train wreck… when I remember how shy I have always been, and that I cannot stand making small talk, and really… what is there to see in me? Other times I remember that I am strong, that I don’t care what there is to see in me, as long as the kids and the husband can see it… those are the moments I stop worrying and know that I have friends in this world, and I have family… not just my own, but a whole second family that chose me, didn’t just get stuck with me. In these moments I might be funny, friendly, outgoing… they are short-lived, but there they are.
Unfortunately, I can rarely just be… I think too much. So, if I appear socially awkward, that’s because I am. I crack jokes although I know I’m not funny, I don’t talk when I should and ramble when I shouldn’t. But, I’m getting better (and it didn’t take years of therapy, so look at all the money I saved). I’m learning to relax, but be patient with me… I’ve spent eighteen years worrying about how much money is in the bank and whether there is enough food in the refridgerator. I would say it’s because I had my oldest child so early, but I was socially awkward before that. I never really embraced my childhood, and I rushed headlong into my adulthood, with no real skills to help me along the way.
At 34, I’m learning to enjoy just being me. I think I might like it.
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