I'm a b...

Remember that Meredith Brooks song, B.itch?  (Whatever happened to her, anyway?  There's probably some VH1 Behind the Scenes thing on her.  Although, maybe they don't make those anymore.  Wait...is there still a VH1?  This is getting depressing.)

Anyway.  I used to love putting that song on the radio, on certain days, and blasting it while I drove as fast as legally permissible (or, slightly over, but not in a dangerous way) down the freeway with the windows open.  I sang along because it felt cathartic to get all the crummy energy out of me that way.  I might need to do that today.  Because, seriously:

I'm a bi.tch...

• my sister-in-law is seriously pissing me off by floating passive-aggressive F.ace.book status updates referring to the fact that my husband and I happened to get the stomach flu, at the same time, from our beloved child, thus causing me to call my mom to come and spend the night so we could throw up in peace, which then made my mom unable to visit our nephew the next day.  I felt bad enough about that already.  Passive-aggressive taunts just make me feel worse.  SHUT IT, LADY.
• and even writing that down makes me feel yet worse, again.  Sigh.

I'm a lover...

• in good news, husband and I are - "being creative" - in the s.e.x. arena.  Baby steps.

I'm a child...

• seriously, the first (and only) thing I could think of to do when we all got sick was call my mom.  Lately I've been thinking a lot about the fact that my parents won't be around forever, which I obviously already knew, but facing that when you have a child of your own feels different to me.  Now I'm thinking more about how they felt when their parents died.  I bet they miss them much, much more than I ever realized.
• also, I flipped someone off on the road today.  Because, you know, she started it.

I'm a mother...

• a mother of a child who now eats sweet potatoes, squash, and peas like there is no tomorrow; really enjoys rice cereal; hates oatmeal with unparalleled passion; sits up without any assistance whatsoever (apart from the occasional sudden lurch to the side or tip backward) and smiles all. the. time.  And it. is. awesome.
• and, she sleeps in her own bed.  Upstairs.  While we sleep in ours.  Downstairs.  With the video monitor on.  I'm still getting used to this.  Like the other night when I woke up at 3:30am and the monitor wasn't working and I went into a complete and total OHMYLORDWHATHAPPENEDSHECOULDBEDEAD panic until I realized that I had forgotten to plug it in, and also, she was fine.  And then I laid awake for 20 minutes trying to get my heart started again.

I'm a sinner...

• see evidence above.
• also, I ate a whole bag of Cad.bury's mini eggs which I had hidden from my husband in my sock drawer because otherwise he eats the candy in, like, three days, whereas I can make it last for several weeks.
• probably that is not a sin.  But my exultation in successfully hiding said mini-eggs and consuming all of them, might be.

I'm a saint...

• well, if a "saint" is someone who doesn't screw up, then I got nothing here.
• but if a "saint" is someone loved by God, then I am doing okay.
• also, in news slightly related to that last bit, I am reading Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott, which is the story of her son's first year, and it is, hands down, the best parenting book of all time in the history of ever.

I do not feel ashamed...

• hmmm...mostly true.
• except about the bird-flipping from this morning.
• and the anger at my sister-in-law (which is pretty much deserved, on her part, but still essentially fruitless).

And now, back to my regularly scheduled programming. 

the m-word day, a little late

These thoughts are a few days late, I realize.  Sundays are not the best day for me to do anything except a.) church, and b.) long nap.

I am still not quite sure how to celebrate a day I used to hate.  Well, not hate, exactly.  "Feel deeply conflicted about," would be more accurate (and awkwardly-phrased).  I love my own mother, so that part was good.  But all the other stuff - all the flowers at the grocery store and the extra people at church* and the jewelry/Hallm.ark/flowers/make-her-breakfast-in-bed commercials running for weeks beforehand just used to take it out of me.

In many ways, I had a lovely Mother's Day.  I did not take it for granted.  But mostly, what I thought about was this:

to all of you,
who want to be moms more than you want anything else
even to breathe
or laugh
and whose arms,
as full as they might be with life,
still feel empty sometimes at night;
all who hope
and grieve
and long
and wait
and wish upon a star
or pray with every breath you have,
you matter too, on this day.
may the child for whom you long
the one you have not yet met
be waiting just around the corner,
please God.
Amen.


*you know those extra people at church on Mother's Day.  The ones who show up unexpectedly shiny and with a tight grin on their faces that says, "my mom/wife/mother-in-law/sister/other female figure totally made me come today and get dressed up so I'm here but don't expect me to be happy about it."  Yeah.  They're there every year.  They make me giggle.