not quite.

not quite what i imagined…

I think I need to write today.

Nothing crazy. Nothing new.

I just am

and this is,


it just is.

Life has been grand and splendid and sad and hard, yet I am here and that is what matters. Right? But lately, I just don’t feel like myself. I feel sad, like a dark cloud keeps following me down the street and all I want to do it run and duck into the closest doorway. But no matter how I try, it is still there.


And I can’t help but notice that when I stop to smell the roses, they just don’t smell as sweet. All the little things I have always loved and relished, all the little things that make me smile, they suddenly don’t seem to work. Like I have lost the magic. Something feels wrong with me.

Where has all my positivity gone? I swear I had it, tucked safely in my back pocket. My mantras, my daily affirmations? Only a few weeks ago, my outlook on life was that it felt like an adventure. Now, I don’t feel so sure.

Tomorrow is Oscar’s 5th birthday. Wow, how I love him. I tell him I love him all the time. I tell him I love him the way a car loves gas or how a gun loves bullets (if you have a boy, you understand). Either way, they both need each other to work. As his birthday draws closer, all I keep thinking about is how old he is getting and how quickly life seems to speed up when you have kids. Suddenly, I miss this little man in front of me. In my mind, he has grown up and practically moved out.

Months ago, I was driving him home from a haircut. I was in my friends’ neighborhood and I started to become nostalgic and began to miss our weekly Monday afternoon playdates. Things had changed, friends had moved away and life was moving forward. I looked at Oscar in the rearview mirror and said, “Oscar, I love you so much my heart hurts.” His only words to me were, “Mama, you just have to let me go.” I sat speechless. He was right, I would.

This growing up thing only reminds me even more that this may be my last time experiencing my child being four years and three hundred and sixty four days old. This may be it and I am trying so hard to soak it in like a sponge that it begins to hurt me. My train of thoughts move to the IVF results and my heart is in my throat once more. I thought I was over this.

I suppose that is how pain works. I know there are stages of grief. I must be in one. I could likely attribute these feelings to a number of things. Portland weather, PMS, lack of sleep, my son getting older, Greg not putting the dishes away, etc. Maybe what I really need to acknowledge is that things hurt. They hurt badly. As strong as I want to be and to appear, I need to be sad. I only worry that I might not snap out of it. I miss my old self and I need her back. She looks much prettier in my clothes.

I have decided to schedule an appointment with a doctor in May. Our clinic offered a free counseling session and I think I better take them up on that. I have always believed there was good in talking with someone. In fact, talking seems to be the most therapeutic for me.

Today, I cried a lot. Tomorrow, I don’t suspect I will. Tomorrow is my boy’s birthday and I just want to share in every little experience with him. From the presents to the birthday treats, the arcade (which he believes he is forbidden to go to) and Hopworks (yes, the boy is wise and chose a brewery for his birthday dinner- LUCKY us!).

Though he is one year older and becoming a little more reluctant to let me give him too many kisses, he still holds my hand and calls me “mama.” Of all days, today, he fell asleep in the car like he use to as a baby. I carried this enormous kid into the house, laid him on the couch and covered him with a blanket. As I walked away, I heard this sweet voice say, “Mama, will you cuddle with me?”

It was like he knew exactly what I needed.