I used to think that once you got to a certain age, say, 17, you pretty much had your life, and all your opinions about things, including war and child birthing, figured out.
But the thing is I have changed the way I look at the world and what I think is right and wrong, it seems like at least five times since the time I thought I was through figuring things out. It makes me restless and uneasy, dizzy almost. Guilty.
It's like I have to take a deep breath and say, "It's alright girl. Jeese. Change is alright. Growth is alright. Stop freaking out."
But it still seems wrong for some reason. Maybe hypocritical, but more so just flighty.
For example I used to think I couldn't drink alcohol. I didn't need it to have a good time and really good Christians had no desire for it. Well, I don't know if Jesus was drinking at that wedding, but HE was supplying the boos. I mean no disrespect, and I understand cultural differences here, but still, wine is wine. And I'm pretty sure, OK, a hundred percent sure, He was drinking wine at the Last Supper. So all I mean to say is I was abstinent not because it was what the bible said; I didn't drink because I grew up thinking that if you drank you were, or would be very soon, an alcoholic.
So that's one thing that has changed. Even still, I am paranoid that I will become an alcoholic, and that Joey maybe already is one. It's ironic and kinda silly but when I drink I have to preach truth to myself, "this is OK, Danae..." even though my sensitive, soft conscious is screaming at me, you bad girl!
Marriage. Never really wanted it. Wanted lots of boyfriends, lots of dates and attention, but not so much marriage.
Of course that changed (with A LOT of convincing), and Joey is the best friend I could ever hope for. The intimacy I have in marriage is so deep and comforting and warm its presence hangs over the bed when I fall asleep next to him.
Same with children. I didn't want any. Then I wanted five. Now that I have had one, I am good with two, maybe three, if I survive the second without my hair turning gray, my bags under my eyes over taking my face, and my rear sagging down to my knees. And that's not saying anything about my emotional state.
But Ethan in my life is like candy, like a party. The feeling I feel when he laughs or gives me a smooch is the same feeling I got when I saw the Falls do Igacu in Brazil: awe, amazement, wonder. In my living room, everyday. He makes life special.
Care for another?
I was hard core natural childbirth, natural parenting, cloth diapers. I had my baby at home without so much as a Tylenol, even SIX, SIX months after, even though I was in so much pain I couldn't stand for more than ten minutes at a time, because I thought if I took "pain medicine" I would be cheating and couldn't really say I had a natural birth. I was this close to using cloth diapers all the time and glass bottles to hold my breast milk when I couldn't be with him. I lugged around a breast pump for eight months and pumped in a tiny, tiny dark closet at work every two to three hours because I wouldn't think of giving my baby formula. I'd watch people walking by through the light coming in the slits of the wooden door. If I could have figured out those baby wrap things that look like you are in Africa I would have worn it all the time. But I never could figure it out, and Ethan would cry the whole time whenever I tried anyway.
I'm not so much about this anymore. It's a good conviction, but it doesn't work for me. I'm learning you don't have to do everything the hard way to prove yourself, and, once again, that having an epidural, or giving your baby formula, doesn't mean you suck as a mother, or a christian.
I could go on and on. I guess the thing is holding on to Christ; that verse that says He never changes has new meaning to me now.