I opened a can of worms this week. In my head. I don’t want to close the can (or touch any worms, for that matter), but my mind is like a Cuisinart set on pulse, and I’ve been mixed up since Monday.
I spoke to a friend and life coach earlier this week about my blog and about my aspiration to write a book. We also talked about the beginning of my motherhood journey, which included some sad stuff, like miscarriage, molar pregnancy, and depression and wasn’t nearly as fun or funny as motherhood is now (with the exception of taking Dylan to the dentist). I wasn’t writing much back then, so while I lived through it and got the help I needed to cope and move forward, I never processed the experience they way I do now through the blog.
The Runaway Mama is how I make sense of my life, and it’s a reminder that I have a purpose beyond serving at the pleasure of my adorable and demanding children. I know I complain about a lot of things, like potty training and the above mentioned dentist appointments, but I like to think I do so from the perspective of a Mama who once looked at an ultrasound screen in her OB/GYN’s office and saw snow in her uterus like on a television screen when the cable goes out. Going back (in my mind and my heart) to write about the sad beginning of this extraordinary journey has unexpectedly –and hopefully temporarily – turned my head into a blender.
The boys don’t seem to notice my zombie state, although I did blow through a stop sign yesterday afternoon with Riley in the car. Oops. Luckily, there were no other cars – or police, for that matter – at the intersection. Riley probably wouldn’t even have noticed if I hadn’t yelled, “Shit!” Thankfully, he didn’t repeat what I said. (Last weekend, after two poop accidents in less than 10 minutes, I blurted out “Jesus Christ!” Just so you know, “Jesus Christ” coming from a toddler’s mouth is not as cute as you might think.) But he did ask, “What happened, Mommy?” I said, “Nothing, Sweetie. Mommy drove through a stop sign but it’s okay. We’re okay.”
On Monday, because I knew the Tuesday conversation was coming, I sat comatose in front of the television for 2 1/2 hours while the kids were at school. That helped a little bit, but “Grey’s Anatomy” isn’t as good as it used to be. Tuesday, I had my moving violation. Today has been uneventful so far, although I almost missed my exit on the highway this morning, and tomorrow, I have to go to the gastroenterologist who’s probably going to schedule another colonoscopy for me because my hematologist (yes, I have a whole team of doctors who deal with my Crazy) thinks I should repeat it sooner than the prescribed five years since they found a pre-cancerous polyp in my very young colon. The only good news there is that a colonoscopy on the calendar might take my mind off the other stuff consuming me.
On Friday – at the end of this nutty week – I’ll get to see my little Dylan be a King of Shabbat at school. He’ll either sing the Shabbat songs with his classmates or he’ll fidget with his hands, tug on his shirt, and make funny faces because he’ll be too nervous to sing in front of so many people. In either scenario, I know one thing for sure. He’ll find me in the crowd of parents, teachers and students and flash me a smile that will remind me just how miraculous motherhood is and how fortunate I am to be on this journey that is uniquely mine.
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 