Exhausted but happy

Nobody told me that single parenthood would be like giving birth every.single.day. Living in our own place, doing all of this on my own, is exhausting. So exhausting.

Yet I love it.

I wouldn't have it any other way. I can't say this enough--I will always be incredibly grateful for the sacrifices my parents made and all the help they gave us; it's a debt I can't repay. (You know, until they're old and feeble and need me back.) But being on our own like this, it's how things should be. I love coming home to our own place, paying our own bills (yeah, I'll get over this one fast), eating leftover pizza in the living room for breakfast if we feel like it.

For some reason I thought that once we moved I'd have all this time on my hands. I'm sure Fate threw back her head and laughed every time I thought that. Maybe it's the adjustment period, but I swear it feels like I just had a baby--you know, that deer-in-the-headlights, I-don't-know-what-in-the-hell-I'm-doing-but-I'm-DOING-it feeling. Wondering if I'll ever have 8 hours of sleep again. Trying to figure out if that smell in the kitchen is the coming from the fridge, the garbage, or the laundry. Keeping my exhausted eyes open long enough at night to try clean up dinner, prep breakfast and my lunch, laundry, dishes, get tomorrow's dinner ready for the crock pot, set out clothes, shower, exercise, sweep, vacuum, get my child to bed, get my child to STAY in bed, yoga/pray/read/meditate, get myself to bed--and doing it all over again the next day. (And if you *really* think I do all of those things every.single.night...have we actually met?) Like, seriously, I'm exhausted just reading that.

R still isn't quite used to having his own bedroom, and almost every morning I find him and his pillow pet on my bedroom floor. I'm not used to all this either, and my gotta-check-the-locks OCDness is out in full force.

Plus moving brings the opportunity for new friends. (Yay!) And somehow it brings old friends (and old flames, and old would-be flames) out of the woodworks. Who knew? If Emotional Gymnastics were an Olympic sport, I'd win a gold freakin medal.

But, hey, I'm doing this. And loving it! I'm finding out that no matter how strong I think I am, I can always be stronger. I might despair sometimes, I might whine, but when something has to be done, I do it. So all of these things that have to be done (by ME, because there is no one else to do them) now that we're on our own, I do it. It's exhausting. But I love it. I love this new life we're making for our little family. The kisses and hugs I get at the beginning and end of every day make it all worth it. His smile, his kindess his goodness; I'd do anything for my little boy.

And right now that means being exhausted every day as I adjust to our new life. And I'm okay with that.

Michelangelo's Masterpiece

You aren't a monster
Just a human being with flaws
Eerily similar to my own
But still
What you did, it wasn't right
And it's not okay
It's not
There may be redemption from this
But reconstruction?
That era was temporarily successful at best
I'd like to think we're better
(Or at least that we can be)
But right now I just don't know
I don't
If I had to guess, I'd say this vortex of ours is inescapable
Please prove me wrong

Someday

Eleven years ago I finally had a boy pay attention to me for the first time in my life. I was giddy; I was in awe. We were walking in Fred Meyer when he held my hand for the first time. And as quickly as it began, it was over. He betrayed me with a friend of mine, and it would be years before I realized that perhaps she was hurting, perhaps she was as deceived by him as I had been. But she and I went to different schools and Facebook and text messaging didn't exist, so I haven't spoken to her since. I wish I could. I wish I could hug her and tell her how sorry I was that she was hurt, too. (I mean, I would assume she still remembers how it all went down. But maybe not.)

Ten years ago I had my first "real" boyfriend. He took me to my senior prom and we spent a crazy summer together. Then autumn came and I left for school and we eventually fell apart. Some time in the past several years we initiated a close friendship, and a year ago I flew half way across the country to see him. I thought maybe, just *maybe* things would click. This would be it. I was excited for all the possibilities and potential. And then...nothing happened. It took only a few weeks before I realized it was probably better that way, but at the time you might say I was disappointed.

Seven years ago I had a ring on my finger. It was pale yellow gold with a princess-cut diamond set at an angle, and the matching band in the set had a small row of diamonds that slid under it. I've never seen another ring like it before or since. Nothing in the world could have gotten me to end that relationship, no matter how miserable I may have been or how unhealthy it was. We were supposed to be married. I'd prayed about it. I knew. And then one day I bought a dress and the next day he changed his mind. I dodged the bullet, really. We were terribly, terribly wrong for each other. But still, I was devastated. I remember walking/running/sobbing through the gardens on campus. Making my way past curious stares into one of the campus bathrooms and seeing mascara all. over. my face. Then two years later seeing that ring on someone else's finger and having a panic attack in Target. It's funny, sometimes, how people who are such a cornerstone in your life at one point aren't even in it years later.

Five years ago I was in love with a man who loved me back and wanted to give me the world. So, naturally, I broke his heart into a bunch of little pieces. He picked up the mess and moved on to a great life, and somehow we are able to very casually be friends. But I wonder about the person I was that day, how I could possibly have been so cruel.

Four years ago I peed on a stick and saw two lines. Pregnant. That relationship had already been a roller coaster, what would happen now? I knew my whole life was changing and it seemed surreal. And then he proposed...to somebody else. Somehow I found the strength to go forward. To make plans. To take care of myself and of the fetus that became the baby that became the most amazing little boy. I moved across the state and quit my job to have family support. I shared a tiny bedroom with him for three years. Worked late hours to spend more time with him. I did what had to be done because, well, I had to do it. Life hasn't been ideal, but caring for my child has never been optional. Never.

Two years ago I was going through my second or third breakup with someone I'd been (kinda) friends with for years. You'd think the pain would have stopped surprising me, but it didn't. And then a year or so later I briefly let him back in my life and he hurt me more than any other human being ever has.

One year ago I fell in love by watching the man I admired falling in love with my son. (In a father figure sort of way, not...any other way.) I had never experienced anything like that, so I had no idea until it happened how badly I wanted that for my son, for our little family. But I wasn't the right girl for him, and it didn't last. And it's okay; it's actually refreshing to me to know I can wish him well with no bitterness or regrets.

Six months ago I ended a relationship was smothering me. I was done. Done done done. I never imagined that that would come back into my life to burn me more than I knew possible. Never imagined that the strangest friendship of my life would emerge from those ashes. (Or will if I can fix myself long enough to not burn that up myself.)

Someday I am going to find someone who loves me and whom I love in return...enough for both of us to make that scary leap into the unknown. Someone who realizes that love is based on actions, not feelings. Someone who cares deeply for both me and my son, and gets that we are a package deal. Someone who treats me well because he knows I won't settle for anything less than that. Because I'll be strong that day, and the right man out there for me wants a woman who is strong.

I like to think that I am tough. That I'm Rosie the Riveter and I don't really *need* a man. That if someday never happens, I'll be perfectly alright. And it's true; I will. If it's just me and Little Man for the rest of our lives, we will be happy and we will thrive.

But today is one of those days when I hold onto all the possibilities of Someday. So please don't tell me it doesn't exist.

Marionette

Someday I'll be a real girl
And when you pull my strings they'll fall apart in your hands
What will you do with me then?
With no lifeless wooden form to manipulate in your hands
No hollow, hollow eyes
And a will of my own
What use will you have for me
When I am beautiful?
And real
And when I'm a pillar of brilliant light
Will I blind you or draw you near?

Rosaline, Rosaline

You dodged the bullet
Or the happy dagger, anyway
He didn't die for you
I don't believe you wanted him to die at all

But the star-cross'd lovers, they might be doomed
Young Juliet and her stupid secret folly
As if three days was enough to determine life or death

And Romeo of the wandering eyes
Rosaline, Juliet, Rosaline
No, Juliet; definitely Juliet
...Or maybe Rosaline

Poison. Dagger. Scene.

And now for some subject-appropriate internet memes: