Making room

I sit in my daughter's future room and the amount of happiness that I have at the possibilities of our future fills my heart. 

Right now, however, the baby's “room” is a mess. There's a transition happening. The room has been my home office/craft/gift-wrapping/creative space for the past 2 years. It is underused and, honestly, the room's primary purpose has been to conceal my clutter – random craft materials, electronics, mail, documents, records and old bills. When I'm in this room, I look past my belongings and imagine the little girl who will spend her nights dreaming in this space. 

I so treasured the mother/daughter time I spent with my mom while she was alive. I honestly never thought I'd experience it again. That's not to say I didn't think it was possible, I just didn't think about the possibility of being in a mother/daughter relationship again in a tangible sense. Motherhood, not to mention having a daughter, was not something I dared to daydream about so freely. In no way do I want to put any expectations on an innocent little girl who is now only a pound and a half inside my belly - the weight would be unfair - but the thought of her and I just spending time together mends my heart in a way that is inexplicable. It touches my core and makes my heart full.

Presently our daughter's room is in my womb. It's safe in there and she's protected. Two hearts inside my body right now - a miracle that I don't dare take for granted. 

This little girl has got a few more months to grow inside of her room. I've got a few more months to organize her room on the outside.  We both have some more time to prepare for this whole new world. The room will be ready.  

Laughter in my dreams

Rough time lately
June is tough
Me & mom's birthday in same week
Milestone birthday
I'm 30 (hooray)
I need to lighten up
Everything is so heavy
Laughter in my dreams
Wake husband & puppy
Laugh, laugh, laugh
Uncontrollably laughing with my mom
In my dreams
Simple
Light
Free

Lonely

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day again. The third one without my mother here with me. It still stings when I listen to advertisements reminding me of Mother’s Day and it’s tough to be around friends and family talking about what they're doing for or with their mom on Mother’s Day.

I’m not a mom yet, so it’s a very bizarre, in-between type of day. I know lots of moms and honor their motherhood - so, yes, there’s meaning in that. It’s not as though I’m totally exempt from the holiday just because my mom isn't alive.

A few days ago I met a new colleague while at a work conference. The air around this woman was not jovial in the least - she seemed sad and reserved. She didn’t smile. I didn’t know if it was her personality or if she just didn't like me, but I noticed it immediately. There was something categorically sad about her.

One morning I made an off-hand comment about my stomach feeling bad or feeling slightly out of it due to the absurdly high pollen count that day. (If you know me, my favorite thing is to complain about "not feeling well." I'm usually tired, allergy-laden, or something else. This is something I get from my mother. I am completely self-aware.)

Later that day, I ran into my sad colleague again and she offered me some of her ginger ale. I thanked her and told her that I was okay. She asked how I was feeling. I told her I was feeling so-so. Maybe the ice around her was melting a little bit towards me.

After that last conference program, I ran into my sad colleague as walked to our cars in the parking lot. She asked how long I'd been working with the library system and we talked about the future of librarianship. She told me about her experiences in libraries (she’d started working in public libraries in 1999). She told me that as public librarians, we are very much like therapists. I agreed with her. She told me that her therapist told her that during a session and I was shocked at her openness. Therapy, unfortunately, isn’t something people are completely open about, especially in the black community that we share. 

“I see a therapist because I lost my daughter last year,” she adds.

And I stop. I mumble my condolences and suddenly see her in a different light. I feel her pain. I see her pain. I think about how hard it must be for her. My heart breaks because I know her pain - albeit I have no idea how it feels to lose a child, but I do understand gut-wrenching lost. I know how it feels after one minute, one year, two years and soon I'll know how it feels after three years before many, many more years - many more milestones, many more Mother's Days, birthdays, Christmases, etc. 

I think of my grandmother. I think of my mother. I think of the daughter that I don’t have yet. I think of this woman with the seemingly inexplicable sadness all around her that can be explained very simply: she was grieving and she missed her daughter.

We talk some more after this revelation and then go grocery shopping together. We don’t feel like going to dinner with our other colleagues. We decide to use our per diems to buy food and eat it alone in our hotel rooms, respectively. 

Mother’s Day must be so hard for her, too. 

My Mirror

"I'll be your mirror
 Reflect what you are, in case you don't know
 I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset
 The light on your door to show that you're home . . ." - The Velvet Underground

You get what you give. The Universe reflects what you want to see.

All of these things may be true. I religiously believed these things until my mother got sick with cancer and died. I  never pleaded with God so much than the times when I cried in the bathroom at the hospital while we waited for a doctor to give us miracualous news.

It never happened. It changed me. 

I still believe thoughts are powerful and I still believe in positive thinking, but I also believe that some things are out of our control.

A few months ago Callan and I adopted a puppy. Mostly things are great, but the housetraining is tough. I'm supremely aware that everything Rya (our puppy) does or doesn't do is a result of her training. It's a reflection of what we've taught her.

So today we took Rya to her our first obedience class and I was in a bad mood as the class started. We went through commands. She was distracted, which is to be expected of a 6 month old puppy in a new environment with other dogs, but I was also distracted due to my bad mood and negative thoughts.

I constantly feel distracted. I'm always running around and thinking about my next task. "I have to do this" and "I should do this" are constant thoughts in my head. Neurotic Nelly, my gremlin, rearing her worrisome little head.

I never thought it could rub off on our puppy so easily. I've noticed when I am calm and present while training Rya, she is right there with me. When we're impatient and distracted, she's the same. Rya is our mirror. Pets reflect the energy of their owners.

But it gets bigger. We also mirror our parents. Our children mirror us. Our friends reflect our personalities. Our choices reflect our values. Our society reflects our beliefs and it gets bigger and bigger until it's incomprehnsible, but it's all connected. And we're all so important.

And maybe my prayers were heard in the bathroom and the mirror just reflected what had to be. Out of my control, but not out of my sight.

What do I have to say?

I've had the urge to write for a few weeks now. It's incredibly persistent and I've got the tools (mainly a laptop, but a pencil and paper work fine, too) to do so, but it's just not happening because I keep thinking: What do I even have to say?

I want to write a book. It's an item on my bucket list and doing this now feels right. I'm newly married, my career is stable and I can squeeze a few hours each week to devote to writing. (Also, I have a new puppy who loves to curl up in my lap and drift off to sleep. I couldn't think of a better muse!) But, really, what do I want to say? What can I add to the conversation of anything that has ever been written and published? What's my angle? What can I say that hasn't been said? 

Strangely, I'm not questioning if I am even a good enough writer because I've skimmed books by Stephanie Meyer, E.L. James and others. You see, I'm a librarian at a public library - I know the shitty writing people read. I don't want to be a shitty writer, but I think writing ability has little to do with being a successful writer and writing something everyone wants to read. There are PLENTY of unpublished amazing writers. 

I have a few topics for books swirling in my ever-shifting brain. I have some ideas written down, but now I just need to write. Right?  

For now, I will start by blogging more frequently. My husband and I got rid of cable, so I will have more time to read & write instead of keeping up with the Kardashians. The key is eliminating distractions. For a writer, it's essential. For a modern human in a high-tech world, it's challenging. But I feel so much better when I'm focused. 

Speaking of focusing, I finished some Truman Capote short stories this weekend. I don't think I've read ANY Capote works that I didn't enjoy reading. There are very few winter-things that I enjoy more than curling up with Capote, in print, next to a fireplace. I aspire to provide the same entertainment, thoughtfulness and pleasure to readers of my future stories/novels/novellas/books, etc. 

This is all I have to say . . . right now.