Disconnection...

This last week was terrifying.  I understood that chilling sense of disassociation that comes from that place that no one likes to talk about.  "That place" where dark thoughts reign supreme, and emotion has no power. "That place" where, standing in a room full of people, you stand alone, adrift in a sea of nothingness. No feeling, no emotion, no connection. Voices are brash and abrasive, and faces all meld together. "That place" where, by any means necessary, you make yourself feel alive.  I don't know if it's depression, lack of sleep, stress, or a combination of any of the above, but I do know, that that was a place that scares me to think about.  It is sometimes easy to forget that I am not alone. Mine was a short walk, a matter of days, where for some, it's never ending.  I read something recently that stated "respect those that make time for you in their busy schedule, but love those who never look at their schedule when you need them". My friends M&B did that for me.  I hope one day to be able to do that for someone else.  "That place" can be brightened up with a little help.

Motherhood....

Being a mother is one of the best...wait, correction: it's not one of, it's THE best job a woman can have.  Not only do you get to grow that fragile life inside of you for 9 months, but you get to spend the next 18 years wearing your heart outside of your body.  You get to watch the development from egg to baby through the marvels of technology, and then the development from childhood into snotty-know-it-all  into adulthood (after which YOU are a raving lunatic!) up close and personal. You get to sit through homework, baseball practices, PTA meetings, Parent/Teacher conferences. You get the "but I'm not tired"s at bedtime, the "I don't like green beans" at dinner, and the "I can't find..."s as you are rushing to get out the door before your child is late for the third time this week.  You get midnight feedings, spit-up stained t-shirts, eyes that come equipped with their own set of Gucci luggage, cold dinners, and three square feet in a bed that (here the nerd in me speaks, and yes I did the math) is about twenty-seven square feet.  You struggle not to cry as your child gets her shots, or as she gets on the bus for the first day of school, or walks down the aisle at graduation. You spend copious amounts of money on shoes he will wear twice, or a skirt that started below her knees but is now a miniskirt. You patiently again, for the thousandth time,explain that the boy on the motorcycle will not be taking her out on aforementioned death-rocket, followed by apoplectic fit when you see her on such two days later.
In case I haven't given enough examples, I will simply state : BEING A MOTHER IS TOUGH. But what I seek to remind you (and occasionally, myself) is that, no matter how tough it is,we, The Mothers, are tougher.