I haven't written for 2 weeks. Don't ask why; I don't even have an answer except: G is here. And with G comes extra chaos. Beloved chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Tonight, though, I was hit by a big, massive emotional mess that is: I am old. 10 years ago, no, I wasn't bikini fit, I was 18, I was flexible and agile and full of energy and zest for what I wanted life to be. Tonight, was a stark realization that I am now a fat old fart. I cried. Oh yes, I did. I cried. Freaked the whole family out too, because I didn't exactly want to tell everyone that I was crying like a baby over the fact that I couldn't do a back bridge with my girl as easily as I did 10 years ago. That it took sheer will and determination and a really unattractive grunty scream to get my large heiny in the air, lifted by my biceps and what pathetic abs are hiding under my fluff. And I'm sure it has something to do with where I am in my cycle, because, seriously, I laid there, after I plopped down (I'd had to move to carpet because I couldn't do it on the hard flooring in the living room/kitchen) and fought off tears. And J stood over me, with his cute little blue eyes and clearly-fake eyelashes, holding his sippy cup in one arm and blanket ("Sockie") in the other...and he said, "Aw yoo ok?" He knew. He knew I was having an emotional breakdown over physical weakness and my obvious signs of aging and as soon as he decided he wasn't going to get any words from me, because I was crying too hard and trying to stay quiet so G and Husband wouldn't hear, he stood at my head and said, "Mommy." And I knew he didn't care any more and just wanted me to flip him the way his daddy does. And so I did. Twice. And then he wandered away because, clearly, Mommy is so weak that even her flips of a 25-lb skinny toddler are pathetic.
And then Husband realized something was up, so he came in and saw, and then G saw, and all of a sudden it was a "What's wrong with Mommy" fest. And I didn't have words. Because I realized that I was simply crying over getting old, which I knew would happen, but I guess I'm just not ready for it. I don't have the energy to get to the point where I can do a backbend easily, but I hate where I'm at now, so maybe my cycle is creating a vicious circle of self-loathing.
I've never felt comfortable in my own skin. Never. A crowd of 100 people could stand around me for hours, telling me that I'm beautiful, smart, funny, a wonderful person...and I will smile and thank them and inside, think, "Ok, but what do you REALLY think about me?" I've never felt pretty. I know I have blue eyes and soft hair, and a decent smile that children and life have begun to ruin, and were I to apply my features to someone else I would likely think that person is very pretty, but I have never managed to think that about myself, no matter what I tell other people. I stress eat, and I'm stressed a lot, and I've had 2 kids, and I have a dysfunctional thyroid, so you can probably guess how I feel about my pant size and bat wings. I know I'm smart but because of how I apply it, I become an outcast, so sometimes I wonder if it's really a good thing, if it would be better to be a bit dumber.
I play Sims. Not because I like playing God over people I've created, but because I can live vicariously through them. Because I can make them live lives I wish I could experience. Through them, I can travel. Go on adventures. Go to school. Be rich. I can do all sorts of things that my life will just never add up to, simply because of the choices I've made. I can't really travel, now, until there are no kids dependent on me, and even then, the kids would need to be able to take over the farming business for a decent amount of time. I can't go to school for lack of money, and the times I've tried I've given up, much to my chagrin. If the farm goes the way it has been for the last several decades, or, ideally, better, I can achieve richness to some degree, but even then, it will be well managed and properly directed. There's no such thing as a thyroid transplant, or TRUST ME I would be all over that, like white on rice.
So maybe this blog is just the expression of a temporary identity crisis. I don't know. I know God has a plan for me, and I know that no matter what I regret, THIS is the path I'm meant to be on, but sometimes, like when I'm hanging upside down in a colossal effort to do a back bridge, I don't LIKE my current path and wish for another one. One where I can wear a bikini. And I didn't chop my hair off a year ago. And I can go spend a month in Ireland, just drinking tea in the country.
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