I was down on my hands and knees looking under the sofa. I couldn’t find the TV remote anywhere. I knew what had happened. I could almost picture the heist in my mind. My little one year old toddling off down the hall with one end of it in her mouth, walking as quickly as her short, fat legs would carry her before I could look up and realize it had been lifted from the arm of the chair.
I moved on to the next piece of furniture, flattening myself against the floor to try and become at eye level with the cavernous, dust bunny corral under our love seat. I saw a dried up piece of unidentifiable food, a rubber ball, and my missing tube of mascara, but no remote.
I retrieved the tube of Mabelline and rose up quickly. Too quickly it seems. The world around me dimmed as I remained motionless, half-way in and out of a crouch, waiting for the dizziness to pass. I blamed it on the negative index of carbohydrates I had consumed thanks to my New Year’s resolution to make me a healthier me.
I wasn’t sure about healthy, I just knew I wanted one of those Birthday Cake Oreos from the package in the kitchen. Whenever I allowed myself to glance in its general direction I would become enamored by the way the kitchen light reflected off its shiny packaging and seemed to surround it in a soft white aura. You could almost hear angels singing in that moment of ethereal beauty. Or maybe it was the side effects of carbohydrate deficiency, otherwise known as bread DT’s.
It wasn’t just the missing remote that was causing me angst. It was a combination of it all. From the moment you begin the journey of motherhood things become lost. You lose your flat tummy, the ability to hold back tears, and we won’t even begin to discuss what it does to your nether regions. I’m sorry to be the one to say it, but you will never find the vagina of your youth again.
Yes, yes, I know. “But you gain so much” they say! And I get that too. I really do. I can’t imagine life without my children. I think back to the days before their arrival and I’d never turn back the clocks. I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d do it all over again. And in fact I’m planning to have more. I’m a glutton for punishment I know.
You do gain so very much, but on some days, the days where you just want to be alone for five seconds; it is hard to focus on anything but the things you’ve lost.
You miss the ability to decide if you want to be alone. As you try to pee with a baby attached to your breast, you miss it.
As you draw a nice hot bath and submerge yourself in the calming liquid, but then sit squarely on Barbie’s outstretched hand, you miss it.
When the door bursts open and a three year old begins ripping her pajamas off to join you in your supposed fortress of solitude, you miss it.
Then you think back to all those times you were a young single gal and you just wanted someone around, but you were all alone. And you were so sad about it.
Then they say something out of nowhere, off the cuff, unsolicited like, “I love you so much!”
Or, “You’re my hero!”
Or, “You’re my best friend.”
Or the original I got today, “I never want to leave you Momma.”
Then you feel guilt pierce your heart like the ice pick from Basic Instinct.
In the throes of my frustration I feel the need to call my Mother so I may vent properly. Then I’m bombarded by the raw truth that I cannot. I’m reminded that she never stayed long enough on this earth to even meet her grandchildren.
Then grief is what stabs my heart. And makes a lump rise in my throat, which I efficiently push back down.
Then they just keep talking after that. And keep talking. And keep talking. And keep talking. Like they never really stop once they get started.
And you wonder when you lost the ability for things to be silent.
The emotions of having children is akin to riding a roller coaster at an amusement park. Up. Down. Sometimes scary. Sometimes exhilarating. And it usually leaves you feeling light-headed and physically spent when it’s all over.
I dropped mine off at their Grandma’s with plans to study for recertification tests required at work. Leaving had been a debacle, as it always is, but that’s a complete blog post in itself, isn’t it? Leaving the House With Children.
Just as I thought today I had conquered the task my daughter said urgently, “I have to pee!” As we hustled to the bathroom she put the story and tone of my life into words, “You forgot to ask me if I had to go Momma.”
When I arrived back home I was so tense I made the snap decision to reward myself with a Diet Coke. My stressed out body quickly grabbed the coveted can like a heroin addict in need of a fix. I had successfully been off the diet drinks for two weeks with fears of Internet driven Aspartame phobias ringing in my ears. Just like that I cracked under the pressure. I could almost imagine my body falling prey once again to a host of chronic diseases fueled by my Diet Coke addiction. Sigh.
I took a break from my cancer-causing beverage and fed the dog. She’s a new mom, and as I poured her dog food into the bowl she was swarmed by her five children. They took her food bowl by storm. She initially snapped and snarled at them and I thought she’d hold her own, but as I walked away to get water I noticed she had backed off in surrender and allowed them to take it over. I looked at her sagging breasts and evident weight loss and felt a sort of kinship. Well, not the weight loss so much, but I could understand the giving of herself and her resources.
I looked at her from across the yard and our eyes met. She almost looked sad. I think she knew the days of her puppyhood were long gone. She had lost it along the way.
As I continued to watch her from afar I noticed her pups toddling off one by one. She walked over to the remaining food and she ate what was left. Then she began to gather the pups one at a time and lead them into the dog house. As she playfully prodded them her tail wagged. I knew how she felt, the joy, the pride, the protectiveness.
I walked back inside and sat in the silence. All alone. I guiltily finished the last swig of Diet Coke, and I thought of my dog’s tail wagging. I suppose that was one thing I had not lost. I hadn’t lost the ability to be happy, to wag my tail.
I eventually cracked the books and reviewed the material. The room was so quiet. I became distracted by the sound of the ceiling fan. A year and a half in this house and I never realized the fan was off balance and creaked.
When I went to retrieve the girls I approached the front porch enthusiastically like a week had passed rather than a few hours.
I watched, unknown to my baby, as she toddled across the warm room inside. Something about how small and precious she appeared with her hair curling up on the ends caught me off guard. I fought back the urge to cry!
That’s another thing you lose; the ability to control your hormones and emotional frailty.
They attacked me at the door, climbing all over me with kisses, the baby burying her head in my chest.
If I had a tail, it would have been wagging. I hadn’t lost that.
But… I still haven’t found the remote.