For the record, this has been the worst weather ever for a maternity leave. Yes, I know, lots of women in other countries would love an unpaid maternity leave during a blizzard followed by a monsoon, but there is no way to put a cheery face on this "spring" in Chicago. I think the City should hand out free Zoloft for everyone who pays taxes. The rain is one thing; the enduring cold temperatures are another; and the unrelenting grayness of the days. It's god awful. It makes me understand that whole "winters in Florida" thing that rich old people do.
But, because I am a survivor and stuck here for now, I am working to make the best of it. I mostly ignore the persistent sogginess of my socks and the extra limpness of my hair due to the humidity and precipitation. It's Wednesday so I woke up with the extra charge of knowing I would get a chance to deal with my unresolved high school issues at play group. I hosted again this week because I have a suspicion that what I put into this whole enterpise is an important ingredient if I hope to get anything out of it. In addition to hosting, I baked brownies. Yes, from a box, but who is this Christie that hosted 4 other mothers and their children, serving hot, moist and delicious brownies? This is not the Christie who used to spend hours surfing the internet at work or "reviewing documents" for a huge litigation case (which means I was probably surfing the internet all day, but billing for it).
Who is the brownie baking woman?
To tell you the truth, I have no freaking idea. I won't pretend to understand where I will end up after I experiment with my identity as mother, as wife, as Betty Effing Crocker. I wish I did know. This period of exploration is fun and excrutiating by turns. I want to know the ending of the story. Am I headed back to work as a practicing lawyer? Am I taking my foot off the gas to spend time with my (most of the time) precious spawn? I always read the end of a book first. I read the ending so I won't be distracted by anticipation or the unknown. It makes me anxious to not know. I read the ending so I can then relax, read the book and enjoy the prose, the stories, the characters.
That's how I feel right now. I just want to know what I am going to decide to do so I can relax, enjoy what soggy days unfold before me and wear my identity with certainty. The flux is so uncomfortable. It's the dark hallway before the next door opens. I hate this hallway. It needs more light and more cheery memorabilia on the wall to distract me from thhe fact I am in the damn hallway.
So, up in the air I dangle. Somewhere between Johnathan Edwards' sinner in the hands of an angry god and an acrobat who's let go of one trapeeze and reaching out for another. I am not sure where I will land, whether the world is led by benevolent forces or if any of this even matters in the Big. Scheme. Of. Things.
All I know is that I bake a mean brownie and that I am starting to like my playgroup.
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