Is That All There Is?

Being a mother and working from home were never on my shortlist.

Beard and I have a wedding anniversary on Monday.
We'll be married for seven years that day.
It's strange, like my birthday, I remember counting down the days until the supposed day of celebration, and then when it arrived, nothing about my life was suspended in excitement. The baby was still colicky. The sleep was still very hard to come by. The boobs were still on call, and the plans to go out for one drink with my friends ended getting pitched out the window because of said colicky baby. I ended up nursing him to sleep while sitting on our porch with two girlfriends at hand. I drank a thumb's worth of wine, and I didn't even finish it, because I was too tired.

Usually, on our anniversary, I get Beard something horror related and nerdy, like tickets to Rock and Shock (sssshhhhh), and he gets me flowers, and something weird (like a ring that looks like a giant silver book), and we go out to dinner somewhere nearby, have one or two drinks, talk about how much we like each other, and then come home and well...have a respectable evening.

Ahem.


As we approach our anniversary this year, there's a lot about it that feels different. Not only have we been married for 7 years, but we've been together for a grand total of 10, which feels pretty momentous. Also, we have a baby, who fortuitously will be 9 months old exactly on the date of our anniversary which, whomp whomp is a Monday.

In view of my super embarrassing mama meltdown two weeks ago, I don't think it's wise to plan some extravagant event, like a party, a night at a hotel in Boston, or any of the other super rad ideas I could come up with. But I don't want the date to come and go with zero fanfare because I have this deep dark fear that when you become a parent you stop celebrating your life and your achievements and only celebrate your child's. It's one of the many reasons I didn't want kids  for so long, that inevitable loss of self, and with it all of the pleasures for which I (hedonist extraordinaire) live.

I know it's taboo. As parents, we aren't supposed to say things like, "I miss the old me", or "A Saturday night where I don't have to worry about a baby would sure be a relief". Even more verboten is the expression of such ideas as, "I don't want my kid to stop me from feeling good about myself as a writer, artist, lover, partner, friend, etc" "I don't want parenting to stop me from being the best version of myself and then expect me to bargain that it's okay because I'm living vicariously through my child." No thank you. Also, that way madness lies. That's where retired ballerinas nurture injury and eating disorders in their own progeny or former career women place unrealistic expectations on their own children's performances in school and sport to live out their competitive instincts.

I don't want that.
I want pixie dust and education and nature and curiosity and joy.

But I want that for me and for Baz.

I'd also really like to spend an evening with my husband by ourselves instead of playing,
"Hold the baby while I do the dishes."
"Okay now you hold the baby while I go pee"
"Okay now you hold the baby while I go outside and summon godzilla".

I don't have the right answer yet, and that's what kills me.
All the things I worry about, the stuff I cheat myself out of or simply find too hard, I hate the idea that I'll look back on it all in the not so distant future and think,  "Why was I such a wuss? I should have just gone ahead and done the thing!"

Except that when I tried to do the thing two weeks ago, I folded like a card table.
Unfortunately, I think I'm not going to come up with the right answer. The smart money says, Beard will say, "It's no big deal sweetie. Let's just get some Chinese food, and hang out as a family."
And I will say "Sure."
Because it is the easy answer. Because I am too tired, too hungry, too worn out from trying to work while a 9 month old gnaws on my shoulder, or tears out my hair, or screams for hours on end, and I just don't have it in me to fight.


Even if I would be fighting for myself.