I've cried at the bar.

Like REALLY cried at the bar. 

Sometimes I get a little sad. Surprisingly, less often than I expected. I guess that tells me that separating from Sev was really the right choice for our lives. I remember when my ex-husband and I split up, I was SAD. Really, really sad. 

So, I cried. I sobbed. In public. At a bar. I was that girl. 

Openly expressing those emotions, without feeling ashamed or embarrassed that I was feeling them was so freeing. I released the sadness, and accepted the love that surrounded me. And I felt good. 

Usually, though, when I get sad, or dejected, it's due to memories. Memories of my late godson, or things that make me remember him. In that instance, I try to remember the good. I put our love in perspective. I remember the smiles. I go back to embrace my feelings. 

For all of my standoffish bluster, I embrace my own feelings well. I just choose to keep them to myself, for a variety of reasons. 

When I'm just feeling generally dreary, I'll play with all the children, or watch them play together. They beat my heart. Coming home from work to find Huck snuggled on the couch with Scout warms my little grinchy heart. "Mom, she was crying, and she wanted to sit with me." How do you say no to that? You don't. You snuggle the little munchkin back into her bed, snuggle the big boy into his bed, and tell everyone that you love them until the ends of the earth. And you sleep peacefully. Because love is what we live. 

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December Prompts NaBloPoMo

Where's our story?

Have you ever noticed that, in the fairy tale world, mothers are non-existent?  They're dead,and step-mothers are assholes.  I was looking for some strength in the land of make-believe, and I was looking for something to read to my 6 month old daughter.  Something that would soothe her, and comfort me. 

Sounds like we need the same thing - maybe we should just go back to bed. 

No.  Today is a day for progress.  Today is a day that I grow some balls (figuratively speaking), and make changes. 

I don't like it.  I'm unhappy.  I know it.  Life feels like it's hard, but I know that it's not that bad.  I know that there are people who would be grateful for what I have. 

This sucks. 

My boyfriend told me the other day that he's pretty certain that I have post-partum depression.  How do you respond to that when the only answer is, "it's not hormones.  It's you.  You make me unhappy."  I can't stay.  I can't. 

And I can go.  I have places to go.  I don't think he'd try to stop me at all.  I just feel guilty.  Somehow, I think I should come last.  I can't.  I can't come last.

I went looking for fairy tales, or folk tales about the strength that mothers have because I needed a push.  Finding a void there was that push.  There may be children throughout history who have heard tales of missing mothers and asshole step-parents.  My children will live a different life. 

It may not be a fairy tale, but it doesn't seem like those fairy tales are so awesome anyways.