Emotional Pretzelmaking

I mentioned in the past that I am packing. Somehow, this move is very different in both obvious and subtle ways.

I am realizing that I have changed residences in the past decade the way some agoraphobics/OCD packrats change underwear (every six months or so). Although quite a few of the moves occurred during my marriage, for the most part, a lot of them were efforts to leave a man. Many men.

They seem faceless now. I think that is what happens when you fall in love and it lasts. You forget the stupid shit. And past lovers are stupid shit. Yes, they may teach you plenty and help you grow. But they are still unnecessary memories that take up too much room in the cranial cap. I prefer to dump the unnecessary as often as possible. I egotistically believe that it helps me learn and grow smarter in other ways.

That aside, I am pretty emotional about this current move. For the first time ever I don't feel like I am trying to rid myself of a man. Instead, I am trying to build my life further with one. That is different. And scary. And new.

So, just to fill you people in (not that you are that intrigued) I thought I'd share one of the things that flipped me into an emotional pretzel this evening while I packed. I don't have time to go into the other pretzel-making emotion today. A later post.

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I uncovered a scrapbook I had hidden in Charky's books. It contains all the photos of my early marriage: the wedding, the pregnancy, her birth, her infancy. I purposely hid it in her things because I don't want it anymore. It is some superstitious belief of mine that I don't keep pictures of former lovers. Feels like ghosts lingering in the corners of a life that is trying to be real and happy.

But this scrapbook is important to her. It explains where she came from, and its significant for me. I feel I have some kind of duty to help her in the future, when she is ashamed and insecure because her parents are no longer married. I know she'll go through it - all children of divorce do. She deserves to know that she was born into a state of happiness. Perhaps not incredibly deep love, but at the time we were content, and happy, and thrilled that she would soon be joining us.

I know it shouldn't bother me to look at it. But it does. I don't know if I will be able to have more children. Each year I go through this thing where the biological clock hits me like a freight train. I am built to be a babymaker. I know this to be true. Unfortunately, I think hard living at an early age alongside my chronic disease - the viral fluke that transpired against me in kindergarten, as some kind of universal check upon my feelings of invincibility - may prevent me from being the barefoot pregnant lady I know lurks within.

And that hurts. A lot. I can't even describe the pain that accompanies that knowledge. I imagine it must be somewhat similar to wanting a sex change. You have felt absolutely different internally from the shallow, vapid exterior presented to the world. The surface doesn't feel real. It feels like the wrong M&M colored-shell coating the surface of the chocolate sphere.

Anyway, that walk down memory lane through my photos of pregnancy was hard, and somewhat coincidental and serendipitous. The only friend to really be present at Charlotte's birth, now-estranged, just had her first baby last week after years and years of trying to have children. Today I walked through the baby department of a clothing store, while waiting on someone, and touched newborn layettes like some expectant mother. In truth I was thinking about my estranged friend's first child. But it sure did bring back a flood of memories of how absolutely incredible it feels to prepare for the most important first meeting you'll ever have.

I'll be okay. Z reminds me that we have a seven year human clock ticking away within. It was around 7 years ago, almost to the very month, that I became pregnant. It isn't something I will forget. It was this huge life altering surprise that I didn't believe could happen. Unlike many other major life events, I didn't work towards it or work hard to accomplish it. It just happened. And I saw my own folly as a human being in her conception. It was among the first of my experiences where I began to question my atheism.

Yes, we do have the ability to make choices that will help refine our path. But we are only human. And we are too insignificant to really be in control.



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