It’s been awhile. Whatever that means: awhile, a dash, a pinch, a scupper, undefined forms of measurement. However, I imagine there are some cooks that would argue with me on a couple of those at least. Anyway, it’s been some time, because I don’t have any as of late. I’m busier than the busiest of the proverbial beavers, but at least I’m preoccupied; I have less time to worry.
I wanted to make my argument simple the other day at work, and I did. If I didn’t have a child, I could and would “live” in the laboratory, my life would be easier, I’d be more productive, and I probably wouldn’t feel like I was missing out on anything. I wanted to believe it, believe it whole-heartedly, as if the secret to my success would have been to not get married or at least not have a child. I wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to pay for childcare or health insurance or diapers. My budget would be stretched, but I could cut some obvious expenses then and be fine. I wouldn’t need TV or a home phone and I could keep the heat low most of the time, because I simply wouldn’t be there. It would be easier. I could progress more rapidly in my career and maybe in relatively short time I’d be full-time faculty somewhere making real money, not Monopoly money – my poor attempt at humor. My days would be simpler. I wouldn’t have to rely so much on my family. I wouldn’t have to ask my mother to put her life on hold for us. Life could be “normal.”
But I don’t mean it. This morning I choked back tears and didn’t want to leave for work. I wanted to spend as many more minutes as I could with my son before he left for my parents’ house for two weeks. It’s only two weeks I tell myself, but that is several lifetimes from now. Two days was nearly impossible before, although that was mingled with other problems. How will I ever manage two weeks? I will be busy, I will be traveling, I know the time will fly by, but when it actually sunk in this morning that my little man wouldn’t be saying “Momma” as I came into the house tonight, I felt empty and shattered. I said once that I don’t mind being alone, I rather enjoy it. It’s true, but now it’s different. My argument is not simple, it’s convoluted. My life would be simpler if I hadn’t had a child, but my life would be empty, and I wouldn’t be content. Time at work is nice, because it’s a treat, all the same time at home is nice, because it’s a treat. It’s like the way good needs evil to be good, and evil needs good to be evil. Without my little man, there’s no home to go to, so it wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m so worried about money, about loosing my home, but it’s not my home I would loose – it’s only a building, a house.
My home is somewhere inside my son, in his smile, his laugh, the little games he plays, the excitement and enthusiasm he brings to everything. I cannot say that I don’t wish that there was a way we could be financially secure and happy together, a way to keep our house, a way to stay near family without relying on them for our day to day survival. I cannot say that I do not wish and pray for miracles. I cannot say that I do not sometimes forget the blessing we do have and wish for better, knowing that there are many less fortunate, knowing that we have not been forsaken and cast out. I gave up my marriage, my financial stability, my stupid hopes that it would someday be right or at least better with my husband’s drinking. I gave it all up for my little boy. He can grow up poor, he can grow up on hand me downs and familial charity, but he cannot grow up on hurt and anger and danger and spite and abuse. So here we are. Here we are. We’ll be okay. I have to believe that we will be as long as we have each other, as long as we have family, as long as we have love, as long as we have hope…we’ll be okay.
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