Pre-Birthday Lull

His birthday is less than two months away. I am pretty sure I get this way every year. A kind of lull, an acceptance of how things are.

I think it's because enough time has elapsed since Christmas that all the raw emotions have subsided from the Christmas letter, or lack thereof. It's far enough away from the birthday that I don't have to act quite yet, meaning I don't have to start writing a letter or worry about what to buy for a gift. So I find myself, as usual, mentally thinking, "F*ck 'em. I won't send anything - they can see how it feels to be ignored." But of course, deep down I know I can't really do that.

I long ago stopped writing a letter in response to the Christmas letter since I always wound up feeling like an ass when I still wouldn't hear anything from her until at least the following Christmas, if not the Christmas after that. This point was driven home after telling them about the birth of my daughter, albeit it 15 months after the fact. (Hey, I wasn't ready to share her with them.) Eight months passed until I heard anything in response to that news, and nothing about my son was included by her - no news, information or picture(s).

This past Christmas I shared with them that my father had just died and that I was devastated. Wouldn't people who supposedly care about me have sent a card or note by now?

I know they're decent people, but apparently I just don't rate high enough for compassion.

Part of the lull also has to do with the ball being in my court. I never get anything from them this time of year, so there are no expectations of them on my part.

And probably some of it has to do with the fact that at this time of year spring finally shows up and there is just something about warmer weather, longer days and time outside that just mellows me out a little and also gives me some hope in life, humanity and the future.

Oh, yeah, I am SO okay

So, in one of my several thoughts a day about my son, who I am "so" okay with his not wanting contact, etc. etc., it struck me yesterday morning as I did my make-up. A coloring.

I mean really.

Would it have killed her to take one of those umpteenth colored pages of nothing that he drew and she was throwing away, tri-folded it, put a stamp on it and sent it to me?

I think not.

I would love to have had one. ONE.

And I know I had that thought before. Back when he was little enough to have made those.

And I forgot.

Until yesterday.

The cobwebs came off, the door opened.

And it hurt.

Just as much.

Are you a Mama?

The place where I take aerobics is a dance studio that has different classes for girls of all ages. One of the classes that breaks up just as ours is about to start is a little ballet class for 3 year-olds. As I was arriving last week, a girl who looked closer to 4 years old was leaving with her mom. I met them on the stairs and the little blonde looked up at me and asked, "Are you a Mama?"

I was so happy to tell her, "Yes." It was just an innocent question from a child, but it warmed my heart. She followed up with, "Which one is yours?" And I answered, "She doesn't come yet, but she will soon." Also the truth, as my daughter will be old enough in the fall and we've already discussed her starting either dance or tumbling. As I continued onto class, I had a small smile on my face, the kind you get when something privately pleases you and you can't help but smile a little.

Had she asked me that question before I had my daughter, the feelings I would have been left with after the mini-conversation would have been far different.