Do you read Black Hockey Jesus? (Oh, you should.)
He posted this and my jaw dropped and I hit myself in the forehead because of course, right?
For me, it’s not thoughts of suicide that insinuate the need for change, it’s when I start thinking about a third baby. Which is unrealistic because, as you know, Steve had a vasectomy months ago. It’s taken me a while (years?) to realize that if I’m sitting on a chair, hazily dreaming about a little baby, while swatting my existing kids away and getting frustrated because they are whining about something (oh those pesky kids! Always whining about something!), it’s not a baby I need. It’s change.
Not even big sweeping change, often just a small readjusting of my axis. Sometimes it means I should get up and clean out the office, instead of pretending that clutter isn’t there. Sometimes it means I should put down the computer and play with the kids. Sometimes it means I need time to myself or time alone with Steve. The more I examine this feeling, the more I realize that it has very, very little to do with a baby.
Someone told me once that moments of boredom, moments of fatigue help us stay on track, because they present us with an opportunity to evaluate and take stock. And then change.
It’s so much easier said than done, this I realize.
I’m waiting to hear from Room, a Canadian Feminist Literary Journal, mid-month about a short piece I’ve written. They emailed me months ago to let me know I made the short list and then yesterday I remembered they said they would contact me mid-July and my heart fluttered all over again. There have been a handful of magazine articles about fundraising and dogs and nutritional supplements and they’ve been fun and exciting but this is different.
Is it? Steve asked, surprised.
This is something that is truly mine. This is something I imagined and created and wove into a pattern that told a story. This is writing, this is my heart. This is vulnerability.
So I wait, and I’m distracted by swimming lessons and run clinic and life, and I remind myself that I was short listed on the first creative piece I’ve ever submitted and even if it ends up not being published, I won’t be discouraged or disappointed.
Because it’s been all those moments, of looking out the window and wishing I was somewhere else, of wishing we would have another child, or wishing things were different somehow, they are what’s led me to where I am. And where I am is where I want to be.