Motherhood

Things I am unable to do

I have a lot of time to sit and think; more than most people have. So, as I let my mind wander to where it wants to go, I look through a tear in the fabric that separates universes. I watch a version of myself become a mother to a son, and I begin to list all of the things she is capable of that I am not.

Swaddle a new born tightly in a knitted blanket, and lay him gently down in a bassinet right next to my bed, so I can watch him sleep to make sure they are still breathing.

Stumble down the hallway more exhausted than I ever thought possible to change the sixth diaper in the span of three hours.

Run to swoop a surprisingly fast 14 year old month, because it feels like he’s actively trying to hit his head on the corner of the coffee table.

Feed him his favorite meal; half of a banana and instant oatmeal.

Have the bedtime routine be the best part of the day, because sometimes I let him fall asleep on my chest, and I have never felt more at peace.

Carry a screaming toddler out of QFC, because I refused to buy double stuffed Oreos when we already had a pack at home, and promptly wonder why I chose to have a kid.

Place a Batman band aid on a scraped knee and give extra big hugs to make it all better.

Stay up all night long sewing a skeleton costume for Halloween costume only to learn the next morning that he has changed his mind, and he now wants to be a fireman, so I now go to four different party supply stores and pay 100 dollars for a 40 dollar costume, because I honestly forced the idea of a skeleton on him, and now I feel guilty.

Put hand written notes in his lunch every day with two Rolos, so he can give one to a friend.

Be his personal, free Uber driver when he is a young teenager, and honestly has a more active social life than I do.

Help him move into his dorm room, cry tears of devastated relief the whole way home, because he got accepted into State by the skin of his teeth, but the passenger seat feels so empty without him, and you already know that the house is going to be way too quiet.

Babysit my adorable granddaughter at least once a week who I openly admit to everyone that I love more than my own son.

I am simply incapable of the physical requirements of parenthood. I don’t mean this in a self disparaging way at all; any child deserves more and better than what I could give them. This is my way of allowing myself to grieve a version of a life I want, but feel it would be too selfish of me to have.

If the other version of me peaked through the tear at my life, would she want my freedom? Would she be jealous of my lack of responsibility? Would she allow herself to grieve a version of a life she wants, but feels is too selfish to have?