ForNotten

I will forget today.

I have no pictures of today–only the ones etched on my mind, ones that will fade quickly or blend in with the grainy images of countless days such as this.

Mornings biding our time with friends.
Mid-days dominating playgrounds.
Afternoons making sand angels.
Evenings postponing bedtime.

I will not remember the specifics of your smile in the backseat of the car, parked while we ate a sundae, the cars whirring by on highway 1A.

I will barely remember you pooping in the shade of a tree, the wipes locked in our car a mile away.

But someday–one day in the future that will feel a lifetime and a sneeze away from this moment– I will rub a sand grain out of my eye, and I will hear the faint echo of the laugh you tucked into that sand angel, and I will feel the warmth of the smile that you cast into the air today, today, as we sat on the beach, you, my gorgeous babies, at the edge of where the land meets the sea, and at the edge of where my pounding heart was meeting my fading memory.

Where all of my zeal to make time stand still is washed over by a low tide, rumbling in and back out again, the process of erosion creeping slowly over my mind, my mind once sharp, now surrendering to the waves, refining all of this into sea glass.

***
From some other day that I barely remember.

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I know this is not the end even though it kinda is

Dear Loverpants,

I have a strong feeling that neither one of us will emerge from this weekend without having met Newbie ‘Nother Baby.  And by strong feeling, I mean that reminders keep coming every 5-10 minutes like an alarm clock vibrating along my uterine walls.  Nay, the weekend shall not close, I suspect, without Newbie coming out some manner of hatch on my person, God-made or man-made, and that is both exhilarating and terrifying all at once and over and over again.

That said, I just want to put this out into the Universe:  If I die in childbirth, which I likely won’t, but, ya know, in the event of a fatal nosebleed from all that pushing, I just want you to know that I think you are wonderful and through the prism of parenthood, I got to see your wonderfulnesses exponentialize and consider myself the most blessed wifemum ever!  Even if I harped on you not doing things immediately…you taught me to remember what really mattered was not expediently putting away the pyjamas off the bathroom floor but having lots of laughs and tea parties with Baby Girl and wanting what we have and nothing more.

Please give yourself a hug and an earlobe pinch for me everyday, and tell Baby Girl that she was the most extraordinary treasure I’ve ever been lent.  Also, hug her daily for me and tell her that the best days will be those when she helps others.  Also, that she will someday be a great climber, maybe of rock walls or corporate ladders or ivory towers.

Tell Newbie how much he/she was loved his/her whole womb life by me, and how I know what a great kickstarter he/she will be in this life, and I’ll look forward to meeting and holding him/her in the next life.

Finally, do promise me that if I die in childbirth, your next go-round with marriage you’ll find yourself a kinder wife, less given to theatrics such as in this blog post.

Love Love Love,
K

P.S. I loved what you wrote here.

Projections

When I graduated from grade school (it was a K-8 type establishment), I thought I was going to become a great feminist orator, taking down the patriarchy one impassioned Gloria Steinem speech at a time.

When I graduated from high school, I thought I was going to become a great humanitarian, an eventual czarina of the American Red Cross, traveling the world on a campaign to suck the world of its healthy blood.

When I graduated from college, I thought I would move to Boston, drink a lot of martinis, work a mediocre job while applying to law school, and eventually become a great attorney, vanquishing injustice one power suit trip at a time.

When I graduated from graduate school, I thought I was really in a pickle because I would have loans and a kid and a mortgage and no time or no energy reserve to produce anything worthwhile for the next eight years.

And I have to say that pretty much none of these projections have really come true.  There are letters next to my name that don’t mean a lot.  There are bills in my name that should mean more but don’t.  There are clips in my portfolio for which I nearly killed myself and for which I was paid a pittance.  There are dozens of jobs on my resume that led me closer to more detours that led me closer to more doubt and self-loathing.
Yet I wouldn’t trade any of it for a smarter dossier, a shinier car, a more assured career path.

I want this life, this one that I never expected.  This union with my best friend, my laughing partner, Saturday nights spent unloading Trader Joe’s of all of its inventory.  This urbane home of the dirty, cluttered, creaky floors and the neighbors who like to bang upstairs.  This full-time job of motherhood where the overtime pay comes in chubby fingers reaching out to latch on to yours.

Not even 30 and my stock portfolio includes a closet full of lip gloss and an enviable supply of cloth diapers.

Happy Mother’s Day to those who never expected to love the job as much as you do, and for all those who will join the force soon, I’m wishing you a blessed journey.

And to you, Newbie ‘Nother Baby:  We’re keeping a “wook-out” for you….

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P.S. Here’s a Mum’s Day-ish column I wrote.  Enjoy.