Today Eliza turned six years old. She is the most wonderful youngest daughter i could have ever been so lucky to meet.
She has so much of me in her it worries me a bit. But as i've watched her grow emotionally and socially in this, her first year of school, i couldn't be any prouder.
I had the good fortune to be able to go to kindergarten with her for the first six months. I watched her take each step with a bit more confidence. In may when her teacher gently nudged me out of the room i sat amazed as she would sigh as i walked out the door but then as i peaked in through the windows i could see her do a little mental affirmation, an "i can do this' shake of her arms, and then run and join the circle and giggle and laugh with her friends.
It fills me with joy to see her inviting friends over to play. She doesn't go to their houses yet, she is still too worried about her allergies and i'm just fine with that because, honestly? I worry too.
I have always worried about her. Knowing that a small mistake, an accidental ingestion of some nut or another, and she could be taken from me. Forever.
This has been a year for me to gain confidence too. Confidence in other parents, in our school, our community – that they care about her too. That she can be safe without my ever-present watching. That her and i can be separate. She's taking all of it with incredible grace.
She is awesome. She is my Eliza and i love her.
I've had a day. Some gloomy health news has left me knocked on my ass.
My poor broken ass. The fifth time really is the charm for the broken tailbone.
I have lived for the past twenty years contemplating suicide on a sometimes daily, weekly or monthly basis. Yet, all of the sudden, when the choice is taken away from me. The "everything should be fine, but the mortality rate is around such and such %" speech. Well, i'm not okay with that.
I have so much to live for. So much living to do. Celebrations to be had.
I am going to be fine. I need to be fine. I have four kids. This year couldn't kick my ass anymore.
I know you want to know how i'm feeling. How i am doing.
I feel censored by family reading this. I wish you wouldn't. Fading beauty is my only ticket.
But, screw that. This is my place. I pay for this. My space. My hipster place.
I re-broke my tailbone last week. The pain has reminded me of all my insecurities. I can't run and play like i want to. I have no excuse to avoid people. I can't sit. I can't run. I can't do cartwheels.
I booked my ticket to BlogHer today. Fuck.
Since i've been dumped by my psychiatrist and my social worker i feel. I feel sad. Everybody leaves me. Just at that moment i'm ready to tell you everything, to cry, to be human, you are gone.
Why can't anyone take that breath and then come back to me.
Happy Birthday Eric. I love you.
Last night i was invited to play on another softball team. Softball is pretty much the only thing that is guaranteed to make me feel better. I love playing for other teams. I get a chance to see their tricks and get to know the other players.
Last night i played for the Trailer Park Boys. That's right. The average age on the team is probably 24. Strapping young lads. I played well enough, drank too much Lucky beer and had a really fun time. It reminded me, for a moment, how fun it was to be in your early twenties.
It was the perfect end to a really crappy day.
Today i feel much better about being dumped by my psychiatrist. I know exactly what he was doing – tough love. As i walked away i could see in his eyes that he is expecting to see me again, probably in some dramatic situation. I'm not going to let that happen. The competitive side of me won't let it.
I hate you, dr. psychiatrist. I wanted you to help me.
Instead you have released me to the heavens.
I am not ready.
Wednesday's are no longer for weeping.