What You Wish For

18 years ago I was so pleased to become a mother. It was all I had ever wished for. All I had EVER wished for.

3 kids later, I was often overwhelmed, underappreciated, overworked, under-rested. There were tearful tantrums (by me) and irrational behavior (um, by me) and ridiculous ideas (yup, by me).

When they all were in school and I was studying my profession and career, things seemed to fall into place. Mostly. The problem came when I realized that although I'd been fighting it for nearly 10 years, what I really really really wanted was to just be a stay at home mom. (ok, I'll wait for ya'll to collectively gasp in astonishment here....)

It took me up until my children were all in school before I realized I wanted them all at home.

Go figure.

So I studied and worked some and flylady-ed some and did a lot of angst filled therapy sessions learning to "take care of myself".

Then the disaster hit, we sold our house, moved across country, found new jobs, and my uncle died and we all went to hell in a cute little trimmed out longaberger handbasket before we sold our other house and moved across country , AGAIN, and found new jobs (or old jobs, whatever) and I homeschooled a little bit and fell apart a little bit and began to heal a little bit. Only to realize that I STILL mostly just wanted to stay at home and do laundry and mop the floor and buy groceries (although I could really do without the whole cooking thing...seriously....) and be a stay at home mom.

So I returned to my passion of foster care. I had this experience. And this. And this. And a few more. And then this. Oh this. Oh my heart... this. And I am forever changed.

I am forever broken inside a little, forever left with a small empty spot in my heart, a small spot of silence where there used to be song.

I couldn't give up one of my own natural born and naturally birthed children, children with my eyes, my chin, my hand gestures, any more than I am having to give up my Meme.

Today I rearranged a bedroom, did some cleaning, easily and quickly rotated some laundry, and then hit the bank and the post office before picking up my youngest from school. So simple to do it all with no baby crying for attention, distracting me with dirty diapers, wet fingers in outlets, and mouthfuls of carpet fiber. From there we went to the library. Two children upstairs in teh childrens section all by themselves while I browsed to my hearts content in peace. Then I came home and made dinner and left my 3 kids alone while I ran to the grocery store By. My. Self. So... straighforward. So... simplistic. I thought of my Meme. Of how having her along would have meant so much more trouble, so much more sacrifice, so much less work done. Having her would have meant I needed a nap, I would have worried about leaving her with my oldest and the burden I was placing on her to be responsible for a cranky whiney baby. I would have stressed about the work I didn't get done, the emotional baggage I was leaving unpacked for my husband, the tension within my own heart and soul at the added energy it requires to have 4 instead of 3. And I thought about how it didn't matter. None of it mattered: the rearranged bedroom, the extra loads of laundry, the quickly pulled together frozen chicken tenders and packaged pasta mix... none of it had a long term effect on anyone's life. Even the nap I would have needed, the stress I would have felt, the unpacked baggage... all of it could have been put aside for the sake of one baby's need for holding, hugging, kissing. All of it could have been ignored for the sake of one baby's soul, spirit, emotional growth, physical development, and need for human devotion.

Tonight I sip a glass of wine at 6:30 pm. I encourage, vocally, my children into showers and chores and homework. I blog, I email, I sit on my fluffy ass and never lift a brow at any baby screeches, any baby wails. I never once say, "Where is the baby? Who has the baby?" and I never once say, "oh my gosh only 45 minutes until I can put her to bed...45 minutes, only 45 minutes..." I don't push down any resentment at my own loss of personal time, my own loss of personal space, my own exhaustion. I am free.

But I am broken. Oh my dears... be careful, oh be careful what you wish for. Be Careful of What You Wish For.