Thursday, September 17, 2009

Julie and Julia

I don’t exactly know what this post is about, except to say that I think I am leveling out after the trauma of the past two weeks.

I had my mommy book club meeting tonight, and we were reviewing Julie and Julia. Somehow the conversation always turns back to our babies and I find myself wondering what on earth these beautiful, thoughtful, considerate, brainy women could have possibly been like before procreating. Maybe it’s the writer in me, but I go back and forth. Wouldn’t so-and-so have been SO much fun to go out to the clubs with? Oh, and this one has SO been through the ringer with family shit. And then there’s the other one, who had this amazing career as an ….. well, it doesn’t really matter.

I know for me, I was a completely differently animal – never gave two shits about vaccines, pesticides, whole organic foods, chicken stock versus chicken bouillon, breastfeeding versus formula,.

But something happens to you when you have a child that is so unsettling in the way you look at every single little interaction you have with the world around you. I’m not saying that people who don’t have children don’t understand – far from it. I just think that when you have crossed the threshold into the area of having someone else be the center of your universe, be that your career, relationship, your pets, whatever, you consider all the consequences so very more delicately. And that is such a precarious way to live. But I share it with so many. There are so many people on the earth now, and every single one of them has a mother.

One of the topics that came up a few times tonight was the lack of tolerance me and my ilk now have for violent or horror movies. I think it comes down to now seeing every person being killed on the screen as somebody’s baby – some woman out there duked it out with her hormones and her uterus and her vagina and her relationship and her gag reflex and her job and her health care situation and her sleep cycle and her very sanity for ten months (nine months is some kind of effed up urban legend, bitches!) to pop out that human being that she loved and cherished and would die for, and here it is being blown up to smithereens for our entertainment. That’s just so screwed up, y’all. Can’t do it anymore. Not even a little.

And while I always tell them that I am not a joiner, the truth is I came to this mommy group because I was isolated and needed companionship with my own kind, and we all know when we are together that there is something more at work here. We are a community of people who understand each other in profound ways, even if we are only very recently acquainted.

I came home tonight to a quiet house. Sammy, sitting in his bed, looked at me like “Well, where you been, beotch?” and we had a little snuggle. I felt comfort knowing that he had been alert and keeping an eye on things in my absence. I did my usual thing of going to McLean’s room and looking in on him, listening to hear his breathing, putting my hand on his back. And then wanting to just give thanks that things have worked out the way they have. They haven’t always been necessarily to my liking, but they fit my life perfectly. And that’s fine for now. I have to put my trust in a Higher Power and know that things are being taken care of, whether I control it or not. And that no matter what happens, I will be given the strength to handle it.

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