Today begins the smiley face of bruises half-mooning my belly button. The first round of hormones must be injected into fatty tissue, and being of the post-gestational female species, I have plenty to spare in the c-section area.*FYI the number one incoming search for this blog still alternates between “c-section scar” and “camel toe.” Friggin Awesome. The medication also causes a not-so-smiley reaction with your skin, hence the bruising.
I’ve been in a state of brain jello this weekend. After emotional highs and lows this past week, I think my mental functioning shut down about midnight on Friday evening. I was staring at the state of my kitchen: Gift bags from my former employer (so crazy to say that now), my “new job” survival kit from my former co-workers, Flowers from my former boss, goodbye cards, and of course all the junk I’ve accumulated on my desk over the past 20 months. Top that off with the boxes I stole from the mail room, the legal files I’ve been storing in my office, the egg donation paperwork I’ve been keeping there as well, and the pile of dirty dishes, it was slightly overwhelming.
Then I thought about packing all of it, and immediately ran upstairs to hide in my bedroom.
Saturday morning, after a night of restless, panicky sleep, I went into LB’s room with a garbage bag and started sorting. My daughter is 2.6 years old. I found pacifiers and rattles from her infancy, baby socks that couldn’t fit a doll. I found every gift, every card, and every piece of artwork she created stashed in pack-rat corners of her room. I was embarrassed.
It took me most of the morning, but I managed to pack 2 boxes of her baby toys, a garbage bag full of clothes, her princess potty and her baby gates into my car. We then dropped them off at the thrift store. Ahead of me, a woman in fur-lined boots was unloading a stereo from her Lexus SUV. This town, I swear.
LB and I continued cleaning/packing/playing the rest of the day, and by 9 pm, both of us were ready to hit the sack. After she went to bed, I looked around at the tiny bit of progress we made on starting a new venue in our lives. Talk about cathartic bliss. I can now visualize how long this move is going to take us, I can see the contents of my life fit into a set number of boxes. The questions buzzing around my brain are being answered at a tortise-like pace, but at least they are being answered! I can see the bigger pictures slowly coming together.
I used to hide from conflict, trouble, and messy-situations. I used to snort my problems up in a cloud of white powder. I was so good at denial that sometimes I would lie to people and not even consider it anything other than the truth. Now that I’ve been forced to face up to my fears, I can’t even explain how beautiful it is to feel that sense of relief after it passes. When you are too afriad to deal with the moster you’ve created in your head, nothing ever passes. There is never any relief.
I’m glad I’ve matured enough to be able to look at my war-zone of a life, realize my mental and emotional limitations, and deal with things at a realistic pace.
When Rooferman and I were together, he would get so stressed out, he wouldn’t be able to function even on a physical level. He would lay in bed, unable to even move. I told him, life is like a stove: You have 4 burners, an oven and you have to cook Thanksgiving dinner. The less important things go to the back-burner. The most important things deserve your immediate attention, and are on the front burner. You just have to decide what the most important things are in your life, and go from there.
Of course, this never did anything for Rooferman, but it made myself feel better by creating this philosophy.
I think about all the pots I have on my stove right now. A new job, which is like making chicken cordon bleu based without a recipe. A new apartment, which is like making mashed potatoes from scratch for 15 people with no electric beater; pretty straightforward, but time consuming and very labor-intensive. An egg donation, which is like making toffee candy; delicate, with detailed instructions that cannot be deviated from, and can be ruined very easily. And an impending court date, which is like trying to bake a sponge cake at high altitude; numerous attempts, hours of exhausting recipe variations, calls to seasoned professionals, and waiting to see if your efforts have paid off after watching yet another collapsed cake emerge from the oven.
Whats on your stove right now?