Tuesday, October 12, 2010


It has been a month now, since our car accident. I got out of the house last week on Thursday night. I had a meeting at the library for Charlotte's Daisy troop. She is very anxious to be a scout, just like her big sister. Olivia had her first Brownie meeting. The girls were both excited. I was happy to be away from the baby for a short meeting, with adults. I kept adding in my two cents at the meeting. Like a crazy person. Cracking jokes, and asking questions. I am sure, to the other mother's there, I seemed obnoxious, but it was so nice to be out, and talk to other women, even if it was about the upcoming nut sale.  I think I just got excited. I shaved my legs, and put on makeup. I knew the meeting would be brief, and I actually felt the sand sliding quickly through the hourglass. I miss my independence. I miss the freedom of just being able to go to the supermarket. Or even not go anywhere at all. But the choice was mine. The option existed. Now that it no longer does, the feeling is stifling. Some days,I feel like a teenager, unable to go anywhere, but knowing I am missing out on so much.
Saturday was spent indoors as well. David had the stomach virus. He spent the day vomiting, and sleeping. Charlotte had a fever, and looked ill. We went nowhere. The sky was blue, and the air crisp. The leaves looked brilliant. I watched it all, from my windows. It was the perfect fall day for pumpkin picking, and cider drinking. I knew it was happening out there, outside of my house. People were enjoying the season. I could sense it.
Charlotte has begun to act strangely. I am so concerned for her. I was up most of the night, thinking and thinking about her. She started washing her hands compulsively. She also can't seem to stop telling us what she touches. Whether she touches her foot, or the floor, or her mouth, she reports it. It is maddening. Her constant chatter about germs. She is consumed with them. All weekend, I could not have a conversation with her, without hearing about what she touched, or something she thought was on her hands. My sadness, and empathy for her, started to turn to anger, and disgust. Really? My kid, who has always had issues, was now getting odder?  I have to worry about my baby becoming neurotic, and compulsive? Why do I feel annoyed? Why do I take it personally? Did I do this to her? Why are my feelings of anger eclipsing my concern for her? Why can't she just snap out of it?
The life I had envisioned for myself is becoming further away from the reality of it. I wake up every day, and think that this is the day I create that life. This is the day that we begin to live the dream. This is the day that my marriage soars, and my children listen. Financial stress becomes minimal. My house becomes efficient, and orderly. My hair looks neat, and my toes are painted. Dinner is yummy every night, and sleep comes easy. I no longer swear, and my patience is unending. Wine becomes something to celebrate with, and not a daily beverage. I set up an easel, and paint my masterpiece. I walk in a room, and people know. They know that I am special, and my family glows.
The light is so bright from us. We shine.

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