Geek Girl Mommie

And Why Not?

I’m on vacation.

No really. I am. I am currently sitting on the floor in the living room of a resort cabin in front of an electric fireplace. My laptop is set up on the coffee table, I have a glass of wine beside me, and my back is propped up against the couch. Flyboy was asleep on said couch until about a second ago and has now joined Little Lass to sleep in the upstairs bedroom area.

The beauty of vacation is, of course, that your every day responsibilities aren’t there for you to focus on. No day job to worry about, no bills coming in the mail, no laundry, etc. It is both freeing and a little maddening to me. Freeing because I know that I’m not only allowed to not jump when an email comes through for me, but I’m in fact expected to never even look at it until I’m back. Maddening because I’m a workaholic, check my 9-5 job email address any way and have to force myself not to start a conversation over a new or existing task.

Also maddening was that some time in the last couple of days I realized that a lot of the stress that exists in my real world doesn’t have to. Honestly with a toddler around my vacation days haven’t been much different than the days I normally have. A little more time out on the boat of course, but the playing, feeding, dancing and laughing are all the same as  when we’re at home. And it has forced me to consider why it seems like more fun here than there. I keep telling myself it’s not supposed to be as much fun. (Hello? Vacation?) And my only response to myself now is “And why not?”

Why does my every day have to be tinged with tension I can’t define? Why do I have to feel trapped in my job and cornered by bills? Why does my face have to have that little bit of a pinched look when I gaze in the mirror at it in the morning or at night now? Why do I constantly have to feel worn down, dowdy and tired?

The truth is that none of that has to be true at all. But the build up and work to get it that way is so daunting it just seems easier to go with what it normal. And I realize now that subconsciously I’ve been thinking that way all this time and that no magic wand is going to change it for me.

I’m still working out the steps that I need to take and it’s going to be quite a trip. It’s going to have hills and valleys, and some of it will be dark, cluttered and dirty. But if I’m up to the task nothing should keep me from doing it right?

She Serves as a Reminder

I  remember the moment clearly. A friend had stopped by and I was starting to get into my nesting phase right before Little Lass made her appearance. She brought along a gift for the baby girl and in the bag was a button. And the button said “I’m a Crafty Motherf***r.” I laughed, it’s so like her. She told me it was to remind me that I was, am and will always be more than just a mother once the baby was there.

I heard about that often. How women tend to lose themselves in being a Mom. How sometimes marriages suffer when you go from being Dick and Jane and become Mommy and Daddy. I never really worried about it though. Flyboy and I had been together for what felt like forever, we’d already survived a major emotionally falling out (mostly because we’re both too stubborn to give up or in, a blessing and a curse let me tell you) and came out stronger for it. We even had a horrible episode that could have made or broken us, and it made us even more of a unit than I thought would be possible. We were solid, like Adamantium. If you don’t know what that is, all I’m going to say is Wolverine folks. If you don’t know what that means then… I’m sorry for your lack of comic book knowledge. Really. I am. Sad Panda.

No, I won’t explain that either.

So, Little Lass came in to the world. I was over the moon in love. Then the postpartum depression hit on day 3 or 4 and Flyboy made me go talk to someone about it right away because I had become zombie-ish with bouts of crying for absolutely no reason at all and experiencing guilty feelings for bringing such a helpless being into the world where bad things can happen. I honestly think Flyboy was contemplating shotgun or flame-thrower. Just in case. I did go get some help, and I managed to bounce back fairly quickly. I think. But I’m not going to ask around to confirm. Like I thought Flyboy and I held strong and we’re still “Flyboy and Geek Girl” as well as “Little Lasses Indentured Servants Parents.” That man loves me more than he loves pickled herring, and that’s saying something.

During the recovery process I realized something. I was never going to lose myself being my little girls mom. See you can’t lose what you lost already. Over the years I had gained weight, and so I dressed in a way that hid the gain but didn’t fix the real issue. Clothes don’t make the man they say, but clothes are an expression of your personality. Push that away for long enough and eventually you forget what that form of expression meant.

I sunk myself into my work and video games. Which, for an addictive personality, is not a good path to go down. I stopped reading for fun, scrapbooking, cross-stitching, and writing. My friends rarely saw me, and they were saints for putting up with it. I didn’t even go hiking or biking. I had even let my spiritual self drift. Some people would look at that happening and say that I was just becoming settled. But it wasn’t that at all. I literally decided to not notice that I was letting myself get away. I was even packing my bags for myself to leave with. How accommodating am I?

I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t let it continue. Not just for Little Lass… not just for Flyboy, although they both deserve the consideration. This had to be fixed for me and because I deserved it too. I’ve said it in the past when talking about others. There isn’t anyone in the world that can help someone unless that person is willing to do something about it too. It became my turn to live it.

It has been an uphill climb. I have to consciously make the effort to put the laptop, technical manual, or nifty new gadget away. Remind myself that hiding behind them isn’t doing any one any good. I can’t ever let myself forget what I’m working on so hard and the reasons why, or I run the risk of slipping in to bad habits. It’s a struggle sometimes. But my Little Lass? She serves as a reminder that I am more. That she and I deserve the memories we’re making together and as a family.

Some day I may have to tell her about how she entered my life and helped turn me back in the right direction. Some day. Maybe. When we’re past terrible twos, preteen tantrums and teenage angst and it’s relatively safe to admit it. But for now I’ll go play at the water table, build towers just to knock them down, sing ABC repeatedly because she always claps and I get a certain kind prideful joy out of it, and listen to Flyboy read “Hippos Go Berserk” like he does every night to her because she won’t pick any other book. And when she goes to bed I’ll curl up with a book that has nothing to do with nothing, curl up with Flyboy and drink a glass of wine and remind myself that this is me. And “I’m a Crafty Motherf***er.”

(Sadly no picture of the pin since I can’t seem to find it. If I do I’ll update the post to include it. For now Foxy up above will have to do. He’s a well loved lovey.)