Motherhood Uncensored

I've been writing. In my head.

My head is filled with all sorts of things I want to tell you, but none of them are anything I want memorialized in print, cached on Google forever. 

I think about it at the early hours of the morning when I can't sleep. When half the kids are napping and the others are staring blankly at computer screens like me. When I should be running and instead I'm stuffing my face with more birthday cake. 

I wonder if I could pretend to write what I want say like it's someone else's story. And then I tell myself that's stupid and why bother writing it anyway. 

But at least I'd get it out. And I wouldn't feel so alone. 

{Yeah, I know. Cue violins and cliches.}

The stuff I need to write isn't anything I want my kids to read. All the crappy stuff about my relationship that I ended up saving personally then deleting publicy. All the shit about my in-laws that I leave completely in tact. They can read all that. 

The vaginas, the buttholes, the all-the-other-stuff that's seemingly embarrassing but I'd actually much prefer talking about than anything that's been going on these last few weeks is all fine for them. 

Since my mom was hospitalized (and if you're wondering, should be on her way to a pretty, shiny, ridiculously clean home this week), it's been tough goings around my place. In my head. In my heart. 

And so until I can jump out of the funk and figure out a way to write it out that I'm willing to let my children read, I'll just send you to other stuff I have actually written down. 

Like how it feels to be a daughter again after being a mom for so long;

Like what stuff of your kids you should save and what you should toss so your kids don't have to do what I did to my own mom's house; 

And like how we're supposed to put our mask on first before putting on everyone else's but it's easier said than done. 

Tell me some awesome news. I need to hear about happy things! 

Eight.

I see your book light on well past bedtime, crayons stashed under your pillow and papers piled high with your stories and drawings. 

You might be the first person to write Sisters Grimm "fan fikshun." 

I have a feeling it won't be the first time you're the first at things. 

The challenge I face as you are now long grown out of early morning wakings, when my presence was a matter of your survival, a demand upon me which I had no choice but to answer, is to remain as present for you as I was when I held you tight in my arms.

It was easy then, when we slept together in the rocking chair and I couldn't let go of you because you'd fall. But now I am learning how to parent without being able to grasp you as easily in my arms.

I hope you know that they will always be there. Even if all I can do is wrap them around you. 

But at least now you can hold me too. 

Happy 8th Birthday, Quinlan.

[Birthday posts from years past: 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, 2007, &  2006]