Tuesday, June 23, 2009 at 12:30am, revised 09/18/2009
So, I lost weight, I went to the gym, I controlled portions, I ate a freakin’ grapefruit for my snack and I’M HUNGREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!! I want a real snack. Ugh. See, I really want to be in shape. I want to be healthy, I want to get strong and sexy and chiseled. I want to be a swirl of curve and muscle with a layer of delicious softness. I want to look good. For me, for you, for my husband.
Oh, and don’t get me started on him. He’s been at the gym almost every freakin’ day for over a month and I just want to tell you that he looks terrible and I hope you never notice in your entire life how fantastic my husband is…because he isn’t like me. He doesn’t need attention like I do and if you ever touched him…well, somebody would die…not sure who though… Oh yeah, but back to me, I want to get in shape and healthy and strong and sane and continue what I call my super hero training. I have this little person that I need to take care of, this bigger person that I need to love, this calling that I need to obey…I can hear my womb calling, calling for another. The third. See, the second one got a away.
I bled for 20 days, I still can’t believe that little one got away and my goodness did that little one get away real, real slow. Iris told me, you have to come back, it’s ectopic, there is no way around it, if you don’t, it will grow wherever it is and you will rupture and it will fill you stomach with blood. So methotrexate, two shots in the butt. Weekly blood tests until she said okay…now about your pre cancerous cervix….But I want to try again, he wants to try with me, we could maybe make another little person. The third, hope she won’t get away. She, he? Any chance? Wish I could skip all the bad parts of the my first school year. Wish I could skip the ugly words, the surgeries, the giant syringe, the blood, the pressure, the bottle of pills, the wishing I could die…that a bus would hit me…the screaming…I sure wish I could skip all that and keep all the beauty that slid in between. Working to find a way to not speak of this school and it’s inhabitants with unbalanced hate.
Year two – recovery, recovery, recovery and set back and recovery and the threat of non-enrollment. See the dirt under my nails? It’s my skin and a little of my blood. I try to wash my hands, wash my mind, wash my self real good before I put on my robe and preach but I end up showing my wounds. Wounded Healer, my ass. I want to be a superhero. A force. I want to pray and preach and make beauty when I’m not screaming or looking in the mirror wishing I could change myself.
But I lost weight! I’ll be in the gym tomorrow right next to him because it makes me feel good (he makes me feel so good) and I’ll be at therapy on Wednesday. I’ll keep loving the most beautiful boy in the world everyday even when I’m telling him to STOP THAT! He dances when he walks, he sings when he talks, he laughs all the time, his hugs are perfect even when they are half-hearted because he is a big boy now…thank you.
Can’t wait ’til morning when he climbs into my bed and says, “Good morning, mommy!” And then hugs me. When he goes to school, I think about all that I have not completed…incomplete, incompletes. So tomorrow… I will try again to eat, to exercise, to feel good, to love, to accept love, to kiss, to hug, to write, to complete, to hip, to hop, to don’t stop…again.