I was reading back through old blogs and was perturbed at myself. How many blogs on single mom dating can one person write? I mulled over this question for days. Why did that seem to be the running theme in my life? Surely I have other, more interesting things to write about?
And then a picture of Graham in the hospital flashed into my head. I relived the whole incident...from start to finish and was left with a shortness of breath and a renewed anxiety.
I write about trivial things because the real stuff makes me panic.
Being a parent is unlike any other love or responsibility. My heart will never stop sinking when I watch them walk into school on their own. My worry for them will never cease. The relief I feel when I finally have them back under my roof is persistent in its presence.
Living without them for a week at a time is like hanging my most important self up in my very large walk in closet/office and going in public as a sliver of a person.
Nothing compares to motherhood.
I write about my dating adventures because it's comic relief. My worry over my kids subsides for a short time as my fingers strike the keys. I am lost in a world of humor and irrelevance, where the star of the show is this sliver of myself without my kids. The fun, light, silly Rebekah.
It's a safe topic.
But what makes me who I am is the hard stuff. The painful stuff. ...what my values are...who I value. It has created not only intense pain but also incredible joy. It's the guts of who I am.
Asking me to date without my kids is like asking a biker gang to go without leather. It's just wrong.
I am doomed to write frivolous blogs 50% of the time...when my boys aren't tucked in their beds at my house as they should be.
The other 50% of the time is reserved for my anxiety over my boys....along with my intense pain...and incredible joy...as they snooze in their beds at momma's house.
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