Tuesday, October 23, 2007

When you are not with me

When you are not with me I have to stop myself from pointing and saying in a really high excited voice, "Fire engine!" when one passes through the intersection in front of me.

(I also have to stop myself from doing the same thing with semi's, school buses, or any piece of machinery bigger than the average, mid-size truck. Oh and planes too.)

When you are not with me I find myself singing in my head very happily Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star or sometimes The ABC's or even sometimes not so happily, but still compulsively, Row Row Row Your Boat.

When you are not with me sometimes I forget I have you.

When you are not with me I think horrible thoughts towards my professors and feminists and the society who made it so staying home with you makes me feel useless and weak.

When you are not with me I feel free and young and happy for about forty minutes, and then I wonder about you and what you are doing, and if you miss me.

When you are not with me I still refer to myself in the third person ("mamma wants to...") and I use phrases like "Bye Bye," and "Oh boy!" and "I have to go potty,"--with other adults.

When you are not with me I feel guilty.

When you are not with me and I move something heavy, I grunt quietly, but still out loud, "BIG BOY," as if you were moving it. And then I shake my head at how silly that is.

When you are not with me I wonder what I would be doing if the little sperm and egg that made "you" never made it. If they never connected-what would I be doing? Graduate school?Traveling? Sleeping? Wanting to have a baby?

When you are not with me, sometimes, like now, I ache.

When you are not with me I wonder if the people I interact with know I am a mother. I want them to know.

When you are not with me and I see an orange fish (like Nemo), or a dog, or a really ugly bug; or if I find a miniature race car, or a marble, or when I see ducks, I think about you and how you'd like that.

When you are not with me the brown car seat from Wal-mart that sits in the back of my Honda with the perpetually annoying bar you have to lift over your head is just ugly and useless. And smells like barf.

When you are not with me I don't smile near as much. And even though you are a pill, going to Wal-mart and even the post office is boring as church without you.

When you are not with me for more than a couple of hours I speed, sometimes up to 85 miles an hour, to get back to you.

When you are not with me I don't feel like myself. I feel opportunity and choice but I also feel a little cold.

Almost hollow.

2 comments:

Kerry said...

What a beautiful post. So true. I was knodding my head a lot.

Came via Emery's blog. Will definately be back! :)

Jooste Roost said...

Love it! I think it would be theraputic (sp?) for me to write something like this too - when the moments are hard it helps to be reminded that there is plenty of good mingled with the difficult.
"When you are not with me..."
it can be finished thinking about anyone in our lives - kids, parents, husbands, friends, etc...
Thanks for the inspiration!