Choosing Life
and waiting for it to feel right
(internal dialogue after two ciders)
I have found myself to be reliably introspective, even in times when it becomes difficult to look at myself in the mirror. Especially in those times, actually. Yet, the times when I find great joy in looking at my face and body, words of reflection linger longer in obscurity before finding my fingertips. Hence my lack of lengthy posts on this publication.
My daughter demands more of my brain power. It’s different than the times when she needed more of my physical body. I can’t seem to find the words anymore. Structured sentences become difficult to form. Instead I sit and stare at the screen that I once loved sharing with and typing into with empty eyes and empty thoughts.
Just hours ago, I sat unable to do anything. Forced to coexist in overstimulation. Touching became infuriating and the sweet voice that usually curves the corners of my mouth, instead brought my eyebrows to touch. I needed a break. And I need them more often than I allow myself to ask for. Part of me thinks I deserve the punishment of parenting on my own all the time, since I made the decision to parent at all. The consequences that came from choosing life have forced single parenthood upon me. The bitterness has closed my heart. It almost refuses to choose life again. I can’t help but think that I chose wrong, and I can’t seem to get over my pride of doing so. I’ve been saying this for a while and I want to be able to type something different, but I still hold the grief for the pregnancy, the birth, the family that I wish I had, for myself, for her. The life I wish I had created in choosing life. But, I chose wrong. And yet everyday, I subconsciously choose life again and again, for the sake of the little one that chose me. But, when will it feel like I chose right? And how present will I allow myself to be through it all? How present am I willing to be in such brutal abandonment? How open can my heart be in spite of it all?
(conversation before bed)
(overstimulated onomatopoeia)
oof
rawr
boom
bang
ouch
boo
crunch
puff
gulp
phew
mmm
gasp
boop
poot
whoosh.
(addressed to babe)
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the big person. I wish I didn’t have to be the bigger person. I wish I could feel as free as you do to move and play. And I’m sure that some days you wish you didn’t have to be the littler. I understand. I get it. I was once the little one who wanted to make all the rules. That part of it never goes away—wanting to make the rules. But the freedom from consequences does. I’m sure you’re starting to see that, which is why the two’s are often labeled “terrible.” Cause what was once a non-issue, excused by infancy, now holds a new fate. Don’t think you’re being singled out. We’ve all been there. And we all thought it was pretty fucking terrible. We all threw our floor bound tantrums and found new truths on the other side. They come for all of us. These realizations won’t stop either. And I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear. I sure don’t. Even now these introductions to deeper reality can pull big emotions out of me. It’s ok to feel those big emotions. I wish I felt more comfortable feeling those the way that you do. You feel your emotions so effortlessly. You’re the real big girl. I’ve heard you say you wanna be “just like mommy,” but mommy knows that you’ll be so much better off being just like you.
(current library haul)
THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.
Abby xx