I’m meeting a friend for dinner and drink(s) in Milwaukee on Friday. Why in the world is this of any interest to anyone? you ask. Well, hey, good question.
I’m meeting a friend for dinner and drink(s) in Milwaukee on Friday and I have nothing decent to wear. I have a pretty okay wardrobe in size 6-8. I mean, Tom and Lorenzo won’t be featuring me anytime soon, but I could always cobble together a presentable ensemble. In my current size of: Not-Even-CLOSE-to-Losing-the-Baby-Weight, I have virtually no wardrobe. Luckily, we’re not going anywhere terribly fancy, just delicious! (TOTALLY not gonna help with that baby weight thing.)
I’m meeting a friend for dinner and drink(s) in Milwaukee on Friday and I have conflicting feelings about it. Yes, feelingS, plural, about a casual dinner with a friend. In my past life, those feelings would be easily summed up as: Yay. But NOW… Now I feel overly excited because an evening out is such a rare occurrence for me. And I feel guilty because I’m leaving my husband home alone with the kids all night after leaving him home alone with the kids all day and that can be a lot for one person to handle, especially one person who hasn’t experienced that yet. And I feel annoyed because I have to figure out how best to work the feeding/pumping thing without disturbing my tenuous supply or exposing my friend to my pump-clad breasts… again. That’s a disproportionately large amount of feelings to have about a laid back meal with a friend.
I recently read a book called As Good As I Could Be, by Susan Cheever, and it contained this passage:
“To say that having a baby changes your life is a great, great understatement. Having a baby explodes your life and you may or may not be able to find your old self among the pieces.”
It rang so true that I dog-eared it, in a LIBRARY book, so I could maybe remember to write it down somewhere or something (now I have this great feature instead). It’s more than pumping and babysitters and weight loss. It’s a total upheaval of everything you had come to know yourself to be.
Sometimes I get bummed about being boring now. Sometimes I don’t want this responsibility anymore. I want to give it back. I think, I don’t want to be a mom today. Which you’re totally NOT supposed to think in this society where we are all striving to be the BEST mom. I think, I used to be fun. I could have a night out drinking any time I wanted one and blow half a paycheck on cowboy boots. I could put time/effort/money into my appearance. I could make plans and decisions based on my own wants and needs. And most of all, BEST of all, I could SLEEP when I was tired and relax when I was sick.
Sometimes I truly long for those days. A coworker tells me they spent a lazy afternoon watching non-cartoon movies on TV, and I am a puddle of envy. I look at the lives of the people I know who have no children, more money, or both, and I notice the fun things they are up to. I wonder if they feel kind of sorry for me and my comparatively tedious life.
But I have impromptu 7am dance sessions with a very eager partner. I am a pirate, a froggy, and magical hurt-healer all in one day. I know the divine bliss of witnessing a first-ever belly laugh. I have sustained human life beyond my own for a total of 79 weeks of pregnancy and 12 months of nursing (and counting). And on Friday night I’m having fajitas and mojitos and I might just get a bit tipsy. I might even order dessert.
This is a life full of color and motion.