Guess who's THREE

Here are a few of my favorites from her photoshoot.






I'll post some more after I get the CD of all of them!

Also expect a few posts to pour in over the next few days!

xoxox
ME

Pieces

"I was born for this"

I woke up this morning and felt the gentle embrace of the early morning sunbeams cascading through my open window.

I woke up this morning believing these beautiful rays of light were created just for me.

I woke up this morning believing they were made to wrap their warmth securely around me to help me conquer whatever life throws my way.

I woke up this morning with an unwipeable smile splashed across my lips that will help me add a little light in this dark world.

I woke up this morning and thought, “I am not afraid.”

I woke up this morning and said to myself, “Good morning, beautiful.”

I woke up this morning and said, “I am enough!”

I woke up this morning, like every other morning.

I woke up this morning... ME!

"Making Memories"

I sit there patiently waiting to begin
Pink, Purple, Yellow
Bright and tiny cups with saucers
Miniature spoons used to stir her tea

Dainty pieces of plastic cake waiting to be enjoyed
Doilies line each plate
She puts all the pieces perfectly in place
“Don’t drink it yet,” her tiny voice proclaims

Sugar bowl, tea pot, cream container
Each filled endlessly to the brim
“MMMmmmmm” rings out harmoniously
We aren’t just drinking tea

"The Phone Rang"

I watched as my mother collapsed.

I watched as tears poured from her eyes and drenched the frigid black & white tile floor.

I watched her struggle between gasps of breath, drowning.

I stood motionless.

I left her and stood in the living room, alone.

I stood trying to understand but her words were still so unclear.

I heard nothing but whimpers and moans.

I stood there waiting.

The minutes dragged on like hours..

Finally, I understood a few words.

They felt so meaningless:

why, how, lost, alone

I stood there wondering.

Time stopped.  

Everything stopped.

Until I heard it, the words that slid from my mother’s lips that made everything so clear.

I stood there crying.

I can’t believe he’s gone…

How could he pull the trigger?

"I am waiting"

I am waiting for this to be natural

I am waiting to no longer be scared

I am waiting for love to grow inside my heart and never fade away

I am waiting for the moment when I see myself in your eyes;
the moment I feel comfortable knowing you are mine

I am waiting for the moment when you utter the words, "I love you mommy"
and I feel something, rather than nothing inside.

(Sidenote:  I can not tell you how great it feels to not have these feelings any longer; although, I can say I still see a glimmer of that cloud there once in awhile, I can without a doubt I feel a million times better than I ever have before.)

(All for Creative Writing Poetry)

Section of "Three Little Words" (parts added)

I walked into the hospital, hand-in-hand with my husband, my best friend.  I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling if I tried.  I thought I knew what was to come.  I thought I was prepared for what was ahead of me.  I thought this is what I, what we, really wanted.  We had been together for nearly a decade.  We knew each other inside and out.  We had each other; heart and soul, and we were ready for our love to grow as we welcomed our child into our lives.  As we were walking into the hospital, I looked into my husband’s eyes and wondered if things were moving in slow motion for him too. It was as if time was standing still for us, allowing us to soak in each and every moment, so we could relish everything about this. 

The moment I got the call to come down to the hospital to be induced will forever be engraved in my mind.  I remember feeling my heartbeat rising and feeling as though lightning bolts where shooting through my veins.  The nurse sounded giddy, “Mrs. Novotny, take your time, but arrive before midnight so we can start your induction.”  My blood was flowing so fast that it felt like fireworks were exploding in my veins; I couldn’t help but stutter, “Th...haa…That, sounds perfect.”  I turned the phone off and just closed my eyes.    My dénouement was almost here. 

For the hour it took to get to the hospital, I just rested my head and sat with closed eyes cherishing the moments that I had been dreaming about for the past nine months.  I sat, lightly stroking my belly bump, which I had come to adore.  This would be the last time I would sit in the car, awkwardly positioned so the seatbelt wasn’t pushing too hard into my bulging stomach.  This would be the last time I would struggle to get in and out of the seat.  This would be the last time I would be merely a woman, because once I stepped out of this hospital and back into this car, I would be what I thought I longed to be, what I thought I was born to be, a mother.

We sat in the waiting room, waiting patiently, envisioning what was to come.  I had the most comforting daydreams of what this new life would be.  Streamed in high definition on the back of my eyelids were visions of a pink blanket holding a tiny little baby; she was beautiful and perfect and exactly what I was hoping for.  We had to wait for a room to become available for us, so I had a few hours to enjoy these comforting thoughts. 

Before I knew it, there was a young nurse standing in the doorway ushering us to a room where I thought my visions and my plan would meld together perfectly, but I was incredibly wrong.  This would be the room in which my perfect vision would shatter; this would be the room where my envisioned plan was crumpled up, thrown away, and replaced with a new, inferior, less perfect one.  The moments leading up to this change are just as significant as the exact moment it all came to an end, the moment I heard it let out its first scream.

At first, the room felt peaceful and welcoming.  This was the place where I would see my child, my daughter, for the first time, kiss her for the first time, say, “I love you, baby girl” for the first time.  Everything seemed very normal and routine; the nurse, who I couldn’t point out today if she were standing right next to me, was so helpful and polite as she explained each and every wire and tube she placed on me.  First were heart monitors, one for myself, and one for my peaceful little girl floating quietly in my womb.  Since I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes, a blood sugar monitor was placed on me next.  Then, the IV that pushed the Pitocin and other induction drugs through my veins was inserted in an attempt to bring my daughter to me more quickly. I was starting to feel overwhelmed and claustrophobic; the cords and wires started to make me anxious.  The constant beeping from all of the monitors was distracting and my normal, calm, and serene attitude was drifting farther and farther away from me, slowly creeping out of my reach.  I knew what all of this was leading up to and I kept telling myself, “just breathe,” but those words were more easily spoken than actually performed. 

Within minutes, my body was having adverse reactions to the Pitocin and I was starting to shake. At first, it was a short, spaced out, slow type of reaction, but before I knew it, I was in full-fledged convulsions.  My arms were weak from grasping the bed railings.  My hands were turning white as I tightly clutched onto that piece of plastic; it felt as if falling off the side of that hospital bed would be falling off the face of the Earth, so I clenched with all of my might as my body continued to tremble.  I was desperate and losing control of not only my body, but also my mind.  Because I was terrified that something was horribly wrong, I pressed the call button; the nurse came in and simply stated, “This is normal, don’t worry.”

My once positive outlook on everything was now completely gone.  I was frantic, my soul felt beaten, and I could not foresee seeing the positive side of anything ever again.  I could barely move and I began pleading with whomever would listen to take me away from this agony.  I realized that I wasn’t cut-out for this; I wasn’t strong enough to bring another human being into this world, on any level.  The minutes were moving slower and slower; time seemed to be almost still.  For hours I was begging for the pain to go away, but little did I realize that the pain had just started, little did I realize that my life would now be full of pain, masked by a fake smile.

Fifteen hours later, my perfect picture was gone and this new, terrifying reality was here.

They placed this wet, bloody, screaming thing in my arms and what is usually the moment that most mothers can recall with perfect precision, I can remember almost nothing.  All I remember was the intense urge of wanting to close my eyes and drift away.

Everything around me was spinning and seemed to be on fast-forward.  I felt a release of an enormous amount of pressure, I heard crying, and I saw all of these smiles and all of these faces stained with tears of joy, but I just sat there, silent, waiting, pleading with my heart to do what I knew it was supposed to do, but yet it did nothing; there was nothing.  I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t allow myself to let go and fall in love with this thing, this thing that came from my body.  It was a part of me and yet I couldn’t feel a single ounce of connection to it.  It cried and I felt nothing. It cooed and I felt nothing. It smiled and I felt nothing.  I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew that this was not how I was supposed to feel; this was not how this was supposed to be.  I had done everything I was supposed to; everything was done according to plan, but this thing came and threw my perfect little plan out the window.

I thought, as I looked down and stared endlessly into those tiny eyes, that this was the defining moment of my life.  I looked into those eyes, searching for a glimmer of hope, but there was none to be found.  I knew she couldn’t be mine.  She didn’t feel like mine. This wasn’t possible.  My daughter had to still be inside me; I could feel her.  She was motionless and comfortable and still inside my stomach.  This thing wasn’t her in my arms, but it was.  This was my child, my daughter, but why didn’t it feel like she was?
(Great Books Piece)

Home is where the heart is.

Turning off the perfectly groomed pavement onto our dusty, unkempt road always puts my soul at ease. Without a second thought I tighten my seat belt and plant my feet a tad more firm because I know that the springs rainy season has once again washed away most of the gravel and left our one lane oasis to home looking like the middle of a war zone. Bump after bump my smile grows. Bump after my bump my worries fly out my open window and in comes the reassuring sweet smell of honeysuckle. I breath it in and my body fills of the aroma that brings me back to a time when there were no worries. The sunshine that breaks through the trees lining our way hits my face and instantly warms me to my core. The oak trees that have been here long before us, and will remain long after us, have stories to tell in their broken limbs and nicked bark. A tire swing still remains on the second to the last giant tree beckoning for someone to come and resurrect it. I know I have exactly 2.8 miles from the moment we turn off the perfect pavement to the opening. 

And then, at that very moment, when we emerge through the opening of the great white oaks that lead us to our past; I see it. The beaten, double-planked, bridge we have crossed millions of times that brings us to the clearing. How this tiny bridge is still standing is beyond me, considering the wood is nearly dry rotten and the railings are either broken or missing. Underneath is the crick that stands nearly 20 feet wide; however, is only knee deep. As kids we would play in the water morning til night; skipping rocks, fishing, searching for as many salamanders and frogs as we could get our mud-caked hands on.

But right over the bridge is where my heart lies. The place I envision when some utters the phrase, “Go to your happy place.” Black-Eyed Susan’s and Daisy’s grow in an abundance throughout a huge field. In the late summer if you sit perfectly still you can see the flowers become animated. It’s as if they are dancing a waltz along side the worker bees that are gracefully skipping from flower to flower. Everything is in motion. Enormous Pine trees line the exterior but right in the center if you lay on your back you can see nothing but beautiful, open sky. I always pause for a moment and take it all in as if it would be the last time I would ever see it. If I could stay anywhere for the rest of my life it would be right there in the middle of my piece of heaven. Worries don’t exist here. Stress melts away as you step foot onto the plush green grass. Pressures of perfect drain out of you with each step further and further into its welcoming uncut sod. It’s almost a necessity to stop your car here and slip off your shoes and walk through it. Slowly and carefully pressing your toes with each step so to truly take in its comfort with each and every movement.

As peaceful as it is here, it is not where we are headed. With the field at our backs we only have about a hundred yards to go before the path opens wide and it appears. Right here is home.

It maybe small but its ours. Green wooden shutters outline the front windows that flank the old wooden door; it matches almost perfectly to the old, brownish red logs that lay stacked on top of each other to frame the exterior. Above the door is a simple cedar plaque with 701 hand painted in off white, I’m sure it was a bright, crisp white at one time but through the years the weather has beaten it to its current state. An overgrown spider plant still hangs to the right of the door in a wicker basket. Below, the welcome mat lays torn and dirty. Many of shoes have scrapped on its surface, if only it could talk to tell the stories of our past. The front porch runs the length of the house and has nothing but a simple white wooden banister to mark the segregation of the cool concrete pad of the porch and the unkempt overgrown grass of the lawn. I have spent hours sitting in that over-sized white rocker than claims its place in the corner of the porch just looking out onto the beautiful landscapes that surround me.

Except for the birds singing their love songs, the peaceful crackle of the water and the winds rushing through all the leaves on the long arms of the trees, it is silent here. 

(Advanced Writing Piece)

Hello, Fall!

Knowing that the first day of fall was quickly approaching (which is today for those of you living under a rock), last weekend I decided to do a "Summer's Over" photoshoot with Bean.  It went better than expected however I barely got any of her actually looking and smiling.  None-the-less they are all very her!

Tonight I'm yours, take my hand.

What is life all about for you? 

Money, Happiness, Sucess, Belongings, Family, Career,

any of these... 
all of these...
none of these...

For me, right now, life is about peace.  Not like Miss America "umm.. like I want world peace."  No, I am speaking of peace in my heart & soul.  Feeling totally content with what I am doing and who I am.  Being able to laugh at my mistakes and being able to smile in the joys that life hands you that often flash by you because we are too busy worrying about everything else. 

I call these little things Strawberries;  small, sweet, heart-shaped little reminders that life can be marvelous.  It is truly about stopping and noticing these things.  Taking the time.  This is a big one for me.  I am a "go go go" type of person, I can't help it.  I can very rarely shut off my brain and just relax.  I notice this a lot more now a days since I am trying to get away from this but even when I think I am relaxing my brain is always going....

"laundry really needs done"
"ugh the kitchen is really a mess"
"I need to remember to call so & so"

Something has slowed me down. Well, specifically not just something ... someone!


Someone has been those little strawberries for me.

Someone has shown me how to take the time to slow down and feel the cool water rushing past your bare feet.

Someone has shown me that life is worth taking risks.  Worth making a serious change to see if the end result can be something glorious. 

Someone has taken me by the hand and taken the time to reach into my heart and help me believe again.

He is that someone.

xoxox
-ME

Revelation?

While going through some of the personal statements we had to make for my last semesters Creative Writing course I found this little nugget.  Just another simple reminder that life is where it supposed to be. 

"As for Jossalyn, she is the most amazing thing I have ever done… cliché right?!  Becoming a mother and accepting the fact that my life will never go back to the way it was pre-baby, pre-PPD and pre-affair was the hardest thing I have ever had to experience and conquered to date." 

taking time to stop and feel the water.

life is good!

New beginnings

I am trying to figure out where I would like this blog to go... I used it as a photo spot for Bean pictures when I first started a few years ago.

I am going to use this to post pieces I write throughout the semester for my classes, I am in my senior year of college (woohoo), and am a writing major I will have lots of things that I enjoy and may want to have them opened up to more than just my class and professor.

I am going to use this to post about the difficulties of life as a single mother; willingly single (parenting) or not.  (That is a whole different post)

I am going to use this to post about the troubles of life with a toddler who is allergic to 30 different things.

I am going to use this to post about the crazy, never ending rollercoaster that is my life.




So once again,
HI, I AM EVIE
...welcome to my world!

I . AM . ENOUGH

Do you know what your character flaws are?  I am fairly sure I have blogged about this previously; however, lets visit this again.  I have a few pretty prominate flaws to my personality.  I suppose though that knowing them and being able to function with them (umm... semi-function is half the battle, right?!)  Accepting them is the other half of that battle.  Knowing that you are indeed "enough" is one of the most gratifying feeling.  Feeling like you don't have to change for anything (or anyone) and feeling like plain & simple.... I am enough.

However....

I'm obsessive:  Meaning if I get an idea I can not let it go until I either complete it or someone talks me out of it.  It can be anything from painting my bedroom, getting my hair cut or going on a road trip. 

I'm an overthinker:  Does this really need an explaination?  If you personally know me you know this is true.  I can't help it.  I always think too into a comment or the lack there of.

I have horrid time management skills:  I mean well but I either plan way too much for a short period of time or I totally waste the time I have and run out of time thus leaving me too little time to get done what needs done.

Life is too short to not smile

xoxox

-ME

Three Little Words

 I would wake up and start each day feeling fine.  Going through the motions of the day posed no problems for me; I was fine, felt fine, felt “normal,” but the moment the last ray of sunshine slyly seeped behind the horizon, it drug with it my soul, my unresisting soul; it did not kick and scream and struggle to be released as one would imagine; it went willingly, lifeless, as if it knew it was defeated.  At that exact moment, the moment the Vitamin D was no longer able to reach my fair skin, I turned emotionless and cold.  It was as if the setting sun was replaced by a dark cloud that washed over me nightly and everything I saw through my clear, blue eyes during the day, now looked a depressing shade of grey.  I would sit in the dark nursery and hear nothing but the loud rhythmic suck of this thing that was attached to my breast.  I could feel it’s heartbeat against my chest keeping time like a metronome; it’s breath bursting calmly out its nose onto my skin, but the only thing that I could not feel was the one thing that should have been most natural.  Love.

What did feel natural to me was not feeling any attachment to this tiny being that I held in my arms.  I would sit and stare out of the un-covered window impatiently, desperately, waiting for the first ray of sunshine to emerge and bring my soul back to me.  The day provided an escape; I craved that escape.  The night trapped me in this nursery with this thing; I was its prisoner. Even though the bars that imprisoned me were invisible, they stripped away my freedom and made me a prisoner in my own home with great force.  The nursery was my prison cell and this thing was my warden, dictating my actions, yet still unable to control any of my emotions.  

It was as if the sun going down each day flipped a switch and turned my soul against me.  My insides felt as if a thousand lightning bolts shot through my veins.  I could feel my blood run faster than necessary; the echo of my heart beat growing louder each second.... my soul aching to breaking free.

The last time that I felt complete is forever etched into my memory; it’s perfectly clear to me.  

In the cold, hospital room, I laid there waiting for my life to change. I awaited the sound that every new mother yearns to hear, the beautiful first yelp that creeps past the most perfect pair of lips, innocence in its most natural form.  This was the moment when I was supposed to feel as if my meager life now had meaning.  I was responsible for bringing a person, a child, my child, into this world.  This was the moment when I was supposed to feel gratified, overjoyed, like every little piece of my life was now perfectly placed together, and I was now complete; however, for me, this was the moment that I felt a huge piece of me being taken away.

I walked into the hospital, hand in hand with my husband, my best friend.  I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling if I tried.  I thought I knew what was to come.  I thought I was prepared for what laid ahead of me.  I thought this is what I, what we, really wanted.  We had been together for nearly a decade.  We knew each other inside and out.  We had each other, heart and soul, and we were ready for our love to grow as we welcomed our child into our lives.  Things were moving in slow motion. It was as if time was standing still for us, allowing us to soak in each and every moment, so we could relish everything about this:  the smells, the sounds, the emotions.  

Then, something changed.  My perfect vision was shattered; something crumpled up my envisioned plan, threw it away, and replaced it with a new, less perfect, one.  

The moments leading up to the change are not as significant as the exact moment it all came to an end, the moment I heard it.  

My pregnancy was considered high-risk, because I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes and was considered to have boarderline Toxemia; however, I was reassured there was no reason for concern during labor and delivery.  Once we go back into our delivery suite, everything was routine: cords, monitors, IV; all the works were put into place.  At first, the beeping of all the machines was distracting, but after awhile, it became harmonious.  We were advised to “get comfortable,” since a normal, routine delivery of a first child could take hours.  But with this less than perfect, new plan, nothing could be routine.  

They laid this wet, bloody, screaming thing in my arms and what is usually the moment that most mothers can recall with perfect precision, I can remember almost nothing.  I only remember the intense urge of wanting to close my eyes and drift away.

Everything around me was spinning and seemed to be on fast forward.  I saw all of these smiles and all of these faces stained with tears of joy, but I just laid there, silent, waiting, pleading with my heart to do what I knew it was supposed to do, but yet it did nothing; there was nothing.  

I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t allow myself to let go and fall in love with this thing, this thing that came from my body.  It was a part of me and yet I couldn’t feel a single ounce of connection to it.  It cried and I felt nothing. It cooed and I felt nothing. It smiled and I felt nothing.  I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew that this was not how I was supposed to feel; this was not how this was supposed to be.  I had done everything I was supposed to; everything was done according to plan, but this thing came and threw my perfect little plan out the window.

I thought, as I looked down and stared endlessly into those tiny eyes, that this was the defining moment of my life.  I looked into those eyes, searching for a glimmer of hope, but there was none to be found.  I knew she couldn’t be mine.  She didn’t feel like mine. This wasn’t possible.  My daughter had to still be inside me; I could feel her.  She must just be so comfortable and still inside my stomach.  This thing wasn’t her in my arms, but it was.  This was my child, but why didn’t if feel like she was?

“Everything will be perfect,” I said hushed to myself.  “It has to be.”

I panned the room trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone.  I needed someone to look at me with reassuring eyes and say, “you’re alright, nothing is wrong” but no one did and no one could.  How could they?  Everyone was busy bursting with the emotions that I should have been experiencing, but I wasn’t; I just couldn’t.   Didn’t they realize what I was seeing?  Wasn’t the terrified expression painted on my face a red flag for anyone?  Could they not understand?  My heart was draining and I was starting to feel the coldness rush over me.  In my head, I was screaming for help, but I couldn’t produce nor speak the words to express what I was feeling.  I needed help, but I couldn’t ask for it; I didn’t know how.  How do you ask for help with loving your own child?

While still in the hospital, I must have learned how to wear a fake smile fairly well.  I went through all the firsts that a new mother experiences within the first few hours with her new baby wearing a caring, loving smile, while deep down inside, I was begging to go back, to leave this thing, and run away while those around me were none the wiser.  Each and every first was now tainted with this feeling of nothingness for this thing that that I created.  My days now felt like weeks, my weeks felt like months, and the months came and passed with no resolution.  I did each and every motion with perfect precision.  My life was now a routine with no emotion involved.   My once irreplaceable smile had been secretly stripped from my face, and my once bright, blue eyes were now nothing but a hollow gateway to my faltering heart.  

It was the day we were supposed to be coming home to start our new life.  The sun snuck into our hospital room and the little beams of sunlight were scattered all over the walls mocking us with the warmth and comfort of the new day.  The crying coming from the bassinet was loud and overwhelming, but worse than that, it was unstoppable.  I could see the comfort level in my husband’s eyes sinking away.  I could tell he was struggling and quickly losing control.

“I can’t handle this.  I don’t want this anymore,” he blared out.  He looked at me with utter disgust, and then without a second thought, he turned around and walked out the door.  

With him went my sense of security and every hope and dream that we ever had.  I sat there and felt myself just let go.  I tried to convince myself that everything would be okay.  I repeatedly said to myself the only thing I knew to say, “You can do this.”  I looked over at this tiny, two day old child and felt hatred; finally an emotion, although not the emotion that most new mothers feel for their child.  Tears were streaming down my face as I picked her up considering the unthinkable, when suddenly then the door creeped back open, and there he stood as if nothing had happened just moments before, as if he didn’t just say he didn’t want this, as if his actions weren’t the catalyst to these awful thoughts raping my mind.

My once perfect marriage was gone.  We were now as different as two people could be.  We rarely touched, we couldn’t talk, I never felt love from him.  I watched as everything I knew and cherished turned cold.  I told him at that moment that what he did “was fine,” that “I could handle it” that he should “do whatever he needed to do.”  At that moment, he should have realized that something was wrong.  A wife doesn’t tell her husband that it is okay to walk out on her and his newborn child, but I told him that, because that’s what he did; what else was I supposed to say?  I couldn’t seeming say anything that I desperately needed to say to anyone.   Within a few months, my entire world had turned into nothing but smoke and mirrors.  Everything was an illusion.  On the outside we were this perfect, beautiful, and happy little family; that left this secret back in that hospital room, but within the four walls of privacy that our humble home provided, we were none of those things.  

Every night I laid in bed, alone.  He was never there, but even if he were, it wouldn’t have made any difference; the feeling of closeness, as well as the love and comfort that he once provided me, were non-existent now.  I had a gut wrenching suspicion that he had taken the love that should have been given to me and was willingly giving it to another.  That premonition came to head when I heard him on the phone, whispering:

“I love you endlessly.”  

“Nothing matters but you.”

“Don’t worry; it’ll all be over soon.”

Listening to him with her, the other woman, was like watching my life on a big screen. I was entranced, focused, unmoved, and then it happened suddenly, as if someone clicked her fingers to make me focus and bring me back to reality; something in me snapped, just like that.  This wasn’t real. I closed my eyes, shook my head, and I thought, this wasn’t him.  That wasn’t her.  It couldn’t be, but, that was them, and this is me, what’s left of me anyway, and right now I feel as if my mind is teetering, quite wobbly, on the edge of sanity.  It’s like watching a piece of glass that has fallen, and all I can do is stand and listen as it quickly echos, "tink tink tink tink.” All I’m left to do now is wait to see if that sliver of glass, my mind, shatters into a million pieces or lands safely, undamaged, all in one piece.

My heart stopped at that moment.  I switched into survival mode; I made a plan and within a few days I did what I knew I needed to.  I went to see for myself.

I could feel the pine needles poking at my toes through my tiny, purple, plaid, ballet flats.  What did I expect from crouching down underneath that large Tall Mountain Pine, desperately trying to remain unseen in the shrubs?  I remember that I was thankful that is wasn’t freezing outside.  For it still being dark, and a few hours before dawn, it was unusually warm.  I was so uncomfortable, not because of what I knew I was about to witness, but because my legs kept falling asleep, and I had to repeatedly switch positions, silently; every inch I moved, the needles and mulch below me would loudly crack as a reminder that I would need to remain completely still very soon.  The birds were beginning to chirp and the crickets were becoming silent; my breathing was calm, until the back door opened.  I instantly froze.  My breathing stopped, my heart raced, and my life was forever changed as I witnessed my husband walk out of that door, at this extremely early morning hour, hand in hand with her..... smiling.

I did nothing.  I said nothing.  I sat in the background frozen.  Continually blinking, hoping that one of those blinks would erase what had happened, what I had just seen.  I watched as he opened her car door, just as he had done for me for the past decade. I listened as he told her that he loved her, just as he had said to me more times that I could count.  My skin tingled and ached as I watched my husband embrace and passionately kiss her lips.  I touched my own lips, searching for the remains of his kiss; watching them, I felt it as if he were kissing me.  She easily slid into the passenger side of our car, and he strutted around, so proudly, and got in the opposite side.  After what seemed like forever, they simply drove off.  I stood there, frozen, until I could no longer see the bright red shine of the taillights.  I knew at that moment that I had no choice.  I wasn’t just paranoid.  I wasn’t merely having unfounded suspicions.  This was happening.

I wondered if my eyes looked as if they were pleading for answers, answers I already knew, answers to questions that I shouldn’t, but that I would inevitably ask.  It’s not as if the answers were going to change what I saw, change what I have heard, or alter anything about how the events of that night played out, but for some reason, I still asked.  For some reason, I needed to hear his response.

“Where were you last night?”  I heard my voice crack and instantly I felt my skin flush as I got embarrassed for myself.  I was embarrassed that I had to ask my husband this.  I was embarrassed that I did nothing when I witnessed it.  He just stared at me with his now cold eyes.  It must have been mesmerizing to watch me fall apart so quickly, to watch as my entire world teetered just outside my grip, to watch the life quickly drain from my eyes as if my purpose on this Earth was destroyed.  She was everything I was not, everything I could not be, everything I hated myself for becoming, but had no control over.  I thought he would run to me and hold me, comfort me, love me; however, I was wrong.  He just stood there looking at me.  I was shaking slightly, fighting to hold back a flood of my previously non-existent emotions, when he opened his mouth to speak.  All of the wonderful things I thought he would say were gone as he had nerve to ask me to “calm down.”  At those words, I morphed into a maniac.  His asking me to calm down caused the total opposite effect.  I could see myself screaming, acting totally insane, but I could not stop yelling.   He was looking around nervously as I was lashing out and screaming things that made no sense to even me.

“I don’t even want it anymore, but I can’t shove her back,” I screamed through the gasps of breath I was struggling to maintain.

“Shhh, lower your voice or people will …”

I didn’t even let him finish his train of thought, because I knew what he was going to say.  It wasn’t anything I needed to or wanted to hear anymore.  He could offer me no response that would make me feel any better.  He could have said a million things, yet all he said was calm down.  He could have lied, he could have said it’s not what you think, he could have said I’m sorry, but he didn’t.  I knew, right then, my marriage was over.

Almost instantly, my anger was gone.  The whirlwind had ran through me and passed. When he uttered those disgusting words, it was as if I was outside of my own body looking down at this situation from a place where I was safe from all the fighting, all the screaming.  It was like I was watching a scene from a movie where a wife just found her husband with another woman and the confrontation ensued.  There was no love in this scene, no apology.  There was a wife, scorned, and a husband who seemed more concerned with his neighbors overhearing the argument than with the fact that he just crushed the soul of the woman who has loved him for years, well what was left of her soul anyway.  I wasn’t angry anymore.  In that moment, I wasn’t even hurt. I continued to watch this scene from somewhere that kept me away from the pain, tears, and the finality of this life.  I looked at this with acceptance. I knew already what had to happen; this just made it crystal clear.

Then I heard it crying, wailing as to announce to the world that it was awake. That cry thrust me back into reality and I walked away from him.  I left him standing there, alone in the cold, and went into her room where everything, for once, felt so warm.  She was so fragile and tiny.  For the first time, I really looked at her; I really noticed her.  For the first time, my mouth made a small, unforced smile.  Because her instincts told her I was the one who should provide her with love and protection, she was looking up at me lovingly, and finally it seemed so clear to me.  With tears running down her face and cries echoing from her mouth, I picked her up.  I began to go through the motions that I have done time and time again, but this time, it felt different. As I sat down in the over-sized, tan glider, and I felt it nestle in and begin to nurse, I looked down and softly whispered, “one day sweet child, we will be alright.”

I can’t say that what I felt was what a normal mother feels for her child.  I can’t even say that it was love, but I knew, right then, that it was different.  I knew that my heart and my brain were finally working together in an attempt to love this thing, this baby, my daughter.  I knew that there was hope and I finally felt relieved.

If someone would have told me that it would take losing my husband, the one person I valued more than life itself, to another woman for me to begin to feel for my daughter, I would have chuckled.  For one, I would never have thought that my husband choosing another woman over me would even be possible, and for two, how could I not just naturally feel for my own daughter?  But, he did choose someone else, and I didn’t feel anything for her.  Those are the plain and simple facts.  Live and learn.  

In retrospect, I suppose life rarely turns out how we expect and things don’t always go as planned.  There have been times when I have thought that my life has gone so far off track that there was no way to get it headed in the right direction ever again, but time heals most wounds, and time offers new opportunities.  I have learned a tremendous amount about people, the world, and myself over the last few years.  

I guess my heart just didn’t have room for both of them.  I spent so much time trying to keep him with me, that I didn’t have room for her.  With time, I learned to let him go and to let her in.  Life isn’t perfect, but I’ve learned that life just never is.  I’ve also learned that no matter what, I’ll always have this thing, and when I’m at my best and when I’m at my worst, that thing, my child, my daughter, will always be the one person to remind me that I am loved, I am needed, and I too will be alright.  

xoxox

-ME