Laughing and making fun of things is my coping mechanism of choice. It’s how I keep a grasp on my sanity. I’ve got shit to do, I can’t be bothered with big, life things when I’m caught up in the chaos of all the little things. There are diapers to change, lunches to make, fevers to break. I went into this blogging adventure full force as my usual, loud, smart-ass self cracking jokes about all these little things that are life.
Today I was smacked in the face and kicked in the gut about what things are life.
I’m in my 30’s. My kids are little and I’m just starting to get a hold of this mother, wife, family thing. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me to perfect it. Except I may not. Today could be as perfect as it get.
Could you imagine changing a diaper and looking down at that squirming, twisting, shit covered baby and thinking, “this could be the last time I do this, if I’m gone tomorrow who will know how to occupy your little hands so you don’t stick them in your poop? Who will know just how close these tabs need to be so this diaper doesn’t leak or fall off? Who will know which diaper cream is for day time and which is for night? If I’m not here to lift you up and kiss your little face like I do after every diaper change, who will do it???” These are Mommy jobs.
Today a baby lost a Mommy. That’s too serious to take seriously.
A group of teenage girls with boyfriend problems, research papers, high school pageants and homecoming dresses all grew up, got married and had babies. Today, thanks to cancer, one of those babies is left without a Mommy. That’s too serious to take seriously.
That group of teenagers had a toast and today it’s all I keep replaying in my mind. I hear it loud and clear. I see our smiling faces, carefree, all of us in a circle looking at each other, raising those solo cups of beer as we shout:
Here’s to the boys, that we love, that we love.
Here’s to the boys, that love us, that love us,
But the boys that we love, aren’t the boys who love us,
So fuck the boys, and here’s to us!