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!
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