Big Softy

I've told you a little about my life before I met John, but what I haven't said is just how different I was back then. I was a self proclaimed "type A" person, and fled from all things B. In school, I pushed myself in science and math, I prided myself on being an "unemotional person", I could be downright robotic. It takes a certain kind of person to wake up two minutes before a 4:30 alarm every morning and charge out of the door to take a subway full of creepy guys to a gym full of creepy guys to work out at a dead run for two hours. On top of that, I dieted mercilessly as I imagined the slight squishiness gathered at my hips was undesirable. In reality, I was 112 pounds of hard charging muscle and 80% water (aren't we all?). At the time, I voted myself most likely to do all kinds of things, none of them fulfilling, satisfying or creative.

The first time I went out with John on our best ever Blind Date, I picked him up in front of Trinity Church and marched him back down wall street at 20mph, chattering all the way. You can imagine what a blessed relief it was when he a)rejected my initial restaurant idea b)selected our table and, c)disputed my order of goat cheese salad (which was in keeping with the Atkins diet) and force fed me rotini. It was like being rescued. I love that Ella Fitzgerald song "... when an irresistable force such as you meets an old immovable object like me ... you can be sure as sure as you LIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVE, somethings gotta give somethings gotta give somethings gotta give!" Except I didn't "fight fight fight with all of my might" ... no, I, over a short period of time (weeks?), turned my back on all that I had been. I suppose it went little by little since that day, but since that day was less than five years ago, it SEEMS like *poof! I was gone!

In the place of that emotion free dynamo is a bit of a wreck. Between my children and John and (especially!) this new baby with all of HER hormones, I am in tears all day long. Last Sunday, I went to church, needing to feel closer to God as I inevitably do after a week of being nasty to others. I walked in the sanctuary door, was handed the bulletin, and burst into tears. People looked at me kindly ("need to be here, eh, hon?"). I left before it started because of the sniffling noises I knew would only become more pronounced as everyone else became more quiet. I cried all the way home. Nope, I have no idea why but it was a morning after John and I had a fight. Where is my immunity?! How could I have gotten so SOFT?

I keep a diary (something I'd always thought childish), I love old romantic movies and songs (ditto), I love pink and pretty things and I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS! I, always the person to say I didn't have a nurturing bone in my fierce little body, am my children's emotional ballast. A few times a day, they each fling themselves into my arms for a good cry. I rock them back and forth with all kinds of "there theres" and sometimes, Claire, my little me, says "Mommy, I need a HUG!". I enfold her.

I am terrified of the very idea of reentering that crazy world I mastered before. I prefer to make pretty artwork for the nursery walls and make flower arrangements for the tables. Without some major adjustments, I would be crushed by the hard charging people I had eating from my hand a few years ago. My dream of being a CEO is now replaced by competing desires to be the best darn mother and wife on (this side) of my street, running my own stable, and working in some kind of sideline capacity for Frontera.

But then, I remember the situation of an ex boyfriend's mother who lost her husband to cancer 30 years ago when she was younger than I am now. She was/is what I consider a "real woman". She said goodbye to her husband, brushed herself off, and went to work to raise two boys. She started her own consulting business and life went on for all of them. She was so strong! I know she was just doing what she had to do. Still, I am full of admiration and I pray nothing so great is ever expected of me. I imagine I would crawl into my bed in a fog of sorrow, drugs and possibly alchohol and stay there until I don't know when. A very dear friend of mine, insists a woman must always ALWAYS be prepared to support herself and her children. I confess to her now, I am not prepared. Maybe I need to toughen up a bit. And turn off Ella who is making me sad!

I still love math and science and have devoted shelves in my library to those subjects. But, I am afraid I am more of a philosopher these days.

Have a really good day!

Middle of the Night Musing

At playgroup today, it was with great joy that I discovered four of the other eleven other moms are expecting ... almost half! As one after another confessed to me, I found myself becoming giddy with joy. Misery loves company like a pregnant woman loves another pregnant woman. To top it off, I have two other close friends who are expecting. John said "maybe we all have nothing else to do with the economy like it is" but I am amazed that so many of us are willing to bravely march forward in the face of tremendous uncertainty. I do have a phobia that our health system will break down before July 30th and I will go into (gasp) labor. Can you imagine? What if there was no cesarean, no epidural?! I would be just another screaming woman writhing around while people yell "BREATHE" or "PUSH!!!!" The very thought makes me want to schedule something for tomorrow, never mind the poor little person emerging will be four months early.

So tomorrow is my baby spa day and then, on Friday, I am going to Boston with the girls. This means my week is as good as over with church to take up Sunday, the seventh working day of John's work week. I nearly lost it all when I discovered the oil light on in my car today. Now that damn light has been flickering on and off since we bought the car over a year ago, and it is rushed to the shop every few months when it becomes known that the oil is actually low. It spent MLK day there, in fact, bathing in the luxurious care of its Mercedes dealer home, being hand washed and otherwise lovingly checked for this and that while I was stuck at home with my "replacement" Smart Car. Oh ha ha, the "Smart Car" is not so ... it fits no car seats, it feels like it is breaking up at speeds higher than 50mph and each pothole means a ruptured disc in my back. And only ONE lousy person bothered to comment on how darn cute it is, a woman at Dunkin Donuts who ran to get her coworker to check us out. That nearly made the hours I spent vibrating down the Merritt Parkway, surreptitiously glancing in the windows of every passing car to see I was not being noticed, worth it. In general, I spent a few days feeling very very green, yes even disdainfully so. But, other than my fast food friend, NO ONE noticed (refer to my post on Martyr Mothering to see how this affected me). I was so relieved to get my gas guzzling sweetheart back, never mind the fake blood being thrown at us as we smoothly weave in and out of traffic with my toddlers screeching "stop touching me" at eachother in the back.

So, my stupid (sweetheart) car nearly blew not only my baby spa plans (John would insist on not driving it tomorrow so the girls couldn't go anywhere), but it also would have completely ruined my getting to Boston to kill another weekend plans as I don't budge from the house without two armchair sized car seats. Sigh. I am so pleased with the sneakiness that ensued. I drove to our local service station and had "Oscar Desouzas" add a quart of oil. As he did this, he turned an admiring eye on me (I know!) and said "so what ... three months along?". I giggled "oh no, four months TO GO". He then told me he once "knew a girl", which turned out to be his sister in law, who was as straight up and down as his very finger, who exploded into a big puffer fish during the final weeks of her pregnancy. He spoke of this like it would reassure me and I thought "does this man even see me?" As I wondered, he finished his oiling and looked me over carefully "yeah ... real nice ...". I wondered again what on earth he was talking about ... I mean, I'd just tipped the scales an hour before at my doctor office at 146 pounds on a short girl ... not "real nice". But I admit, I felt a little sexy (and scantily dressed in my dress and sweater and clog shoes) as I followed him back to the cash register to pay. As we went, Oscar told me about his woes concerning most women he meets (they just want to set him up on a monthly payment plan ... not good mom material) and we traded truisms about having children (or not) as he rang me up. I walked back to my car and caught him checking me out through the garage windows ... I vowed to stop by the next time my man is not dishing out the compliments I need to feel like a 150 pound supermodel. Oh Oscar ...

So my scheme re oil may or may not work. John will be driving my car all day tomorrow and if it manages to piddle away a half quart or so of oil, that damn light will go off with a loud warning beep. John will swerve it off the road and call the dealer right then and there and I will be stuck this weekend, touring around here in my Smart Car. Maybe I'll drive it on down the the gas station for some complimentary lovin'. In any case, if it burns through enough oil to set off the light in one day, I guess (sigh) I shouldn't be driving it to Boston anyway.