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Sparkle (8)
I no longer hope that "this is the month," in fact, I wish the opposite. I no longer am upset by my period as a reminder that yet again, there is no baby growing inside of me but am relieved at the sight of the blood {ew, I know}. I am not swayed by the cute squishiness of newborns any longer but only see how much work they require and how little sleep parents get. I smile when I awake in the mornings, knowing I can roll over and fall back to sleep in my soft bed until whatever time I want to because I don't have a child who needs me. I relax at the thought that I won't ever have to deal with homework and parent/teacher meetings and other parents telling me how to raise my own kid. I love that my husband, and I don't have that extra stress in our lives. I wonder how I'd get anything accomplished with an infant running around 24/7. I'm afraid of pregnancy now. I'm afraid of postpartum now. Thoughts like "What if I hate being a mother and resent my kid because of it" scare me into contentment.
On a semi-regular, if not daily basis, I find myself scrolling through the checklist above in my head... as if somehow by thinking about and/or stating only the negative attributes that children bring to a couple's life eases the harsh reality that I, indeed, did not get to decide that I wanted a life without children but rather, the decision was made for me.
And mostly, this tactic works. Mostly, I am happy. Mostly we are happy. Mostly I love our life and I love our freedom. But once in a while emotion punches logic straight in the mouth, calls it a fool and wrecks havoc on my otherwise orderly anti-kid thoughts.
At this point in my process of acceptance, 4+ years after we decided we wanted to have a kid, the emotion is less one of sadness and more of just flat disappointment. And this disappointment makes itself abundantly clear when in the presence of a small child or maybe hearing the news of another pregnancy and in some cases, the news of an unwanted pregnancy. Seeing mothers take what they have for granted when so many other women would give their left arm to have it, is disappointing.
You know when you save and save and save for something and by the time you finally can afford to buy it, it means so much more to you than say, something that was just handed to you? You hold it dear, cherish it and take better care of it. It's along those lines.
I guess my daily "I'm so glad we never had kids" statements are a way to somehow trick my psyche into believing that it was my choice, that it is my choice.
I stopped by my mom's on Wednesday afternoon to visit with her on her weekly day with my adorably precious niece, Delilah George, and I just so happened to have my camera with me.
We sat in the sun in the backyard and pulled flowers off of Delilah's little feet every 20 seconds when she stepped on one. We watched her walk in circles around the picnic blanket we were sitting on. We answered all of her "what is da?" questions with excitement and willingness and eventually went inside, making our way into Delilah's room. Three girls in one room naturally led to a few outfit changes, which Delilah was fully on board for.
I started "styling" Delilah, asking my mom for specifics and wondering what shoes she had with her when mom pulled out this little leather patchwork purse that was hers when she was a child and then gave to me when I was a little girl to play with. When she pulled it out and handed it to Delilah, I had an inner impulse to grab it like a child and say "That's mine!" ...which, obviously, I did not release. Out of nowhere emotion punched me in the mouth and memories of my mom saying that she would save it for my little girl to
