The Adventures of Me

Because of course

Yesterday I was standing around eating gummy candy (because I'm an adult, dammit) when I suddenly felt something sharp. I immediately spit out what was in my mouth because I am a child of the 80s and I know that people hide razor blades in candy, thankyouverymuch. 

Instead of finding a hidden needle or sharp device, I instead discovered that in midst of half chewed gummy candy, my tooth was also in my hand. Not a regular tooth, mind you, but a crown I had put on in January. It was, thankfully, fully intact. It was less thankfully no longer in my head where it was supposed to be. 

Generally, this is in no way blog worthy, but, you see, I was t-minus 2 hours from a date. This meant I had a couple of options: 1) do the responsible thing, cancel the date and head to an emergency dentist to put this bad boy back in place or 2) panic text all my friends, put on my fancy datin' clothes, and head out to a bar, sans tooth. I'm pretty sure we all know the option I took.

As another friend said 'use this as your ice breaker. Your guy will find this hilarious'. And it's true. The dude I end up with would immediately be all 'um, can I look?' and probably high five me. As this guy mostly just nodded and looked at me like I was nuts, he was clearly not my dude. He also didn't get my patented tooth pointing move, so really, it's all his loss. 

A Year in Review

Yesterday I turned 37. It was my 'scary' number. Sure, 30 was hard and 40, ooph, I know it will be too... but 37? I had always dreaded it. It's my official welcome to Late Thirties. Even though I have a truly solid life, I still feel somewhere inside that I should have my shit substantially more together. Everyone around me is getting engaged, married, or celebrating milestone anniversaries. Me? Oh, I'm swiping through men's faces on internet apps hoping to stumble across The One. It brought on a solid case of the sads for the last few weeks as I approached it and I will fully admit to crying more than a little yesterday.

But here we are. I am 1 day into my late thirties and the world hasn't stopped turning. I can still walk down the street without strangers staring at me, wondering how someone so old could dare stumble along without a cane. I haven't suddenly been overcome with a desire to hang up my cut off shorts and slogan tees and instead shop at Chicco's. I don't feel any older or in my super unbiased opinion, look older. It's just another day following just another birthday... kind of. The last year flew by rapidly and if I want I can shrug it off as just another year, just another birthday. However, so much has changed, and man, it's been a year of the Bad/Goods. I feel like I'd be doing myself a massive disservice if I didn't in some way or form acknowledge it.

Over the course of my 36th year I:

• Adopted not one, but two, dogs. In doing so I have clearly lost my mind but my god do I love those furballs. They are cuddly and sweet and have forced me out of the house on daily walks. My world has been a bit of a cocoon and they've help tear the walls down. It helped me remember what it's like to be out in the world and most importantly, in my body, again. 
• I lost a ton of weight. I am now the thinnest I've been in my adult life and I'm still in the process of losing. In January a good friend and I were texting and it boiled down to the fact we were both still hiding away from the world under the guise of baby weight. I was doing my daily walks and then drowning my self in sugar. I slowly started caring again and that life became one that didn't fit anymore. I started paying attention to what I ate, made better choices, and got my ass back into yoga. In doing so I've lost 21.4 lbs to date and most importantly, remembered what it was like to be me again. It shook the cobwebs off and the old me, the one I've missed so much came roaring back. I've worked hard on how to integrate who that person was and, most importantly, is into my new life. It's an ongoing construction project. 
• Dated a ton. I've had a handful of things that bordered on being something real but then didn't move forward, for whatever reason. But, I got to dress up and make out again. I felt desirable again; something I did not feel for the whole of my 35th year. I flirted, and drank wine, and bantered. I had some truly amazing dates with incredible dudes and some really holy fucking horrific dates with dudes that weren't bad people just not my people. I'm pausing the dating for a bit reprieve after a setback with one of the 'didn't move forward guys' but I know I'll be trying again soon. Because:
• I regained the idea that I could possibly find love again. Dating as a single mom sucks guys. It sucks so fucking hard. But...I've seen it work for other people. The most important thing though is I now fully know I'm worthy of love. I know I have a lot to offer. I know that I have more hurdles than most women in LA, but I also know that the right guy will eventually find his way over them. There are days where I definitely do not believe that, but, the fact that there are still days where I do? It's a wonderful thing. 
• I had some major professional setbacks and had to realize that it's okay to not be where I want to be. I prioritized working at home so I could be close to my daughter on a daily basis. Did it make me earn less? At times, it really, really did. Did it result in some isolation and big struggle? More than you'll ever know. But, was it, and does it continue to be, worth it? You bet your ass. I would do this again and again and again. I would always choose this and I continue to choose it every day. I'm okay with that, even if it means I'm not where I thought I would or should be. Sometimes it's okay to de-prioritize a career for a kid. I've come to terms with that even though I wrestled with it the vast majority of last year. 
• Health struggles, man did I have those. I had big, scary appointments wherein I was told I would need heart surgery and my uterus removed. So far I've been able to side step around those and it looks like I should be able to continue to do that. It was scary as hell and I cried more in that month long period than I've cried in years. But I got through it. My people circled wagons and texted more than any group of humans should. I looked some scary shit straight in the eye in a game of chicken, and I won. One day I may not but that's okay. It's one day at a time for now.

Overall I had some really, epically shitty days... but some truly wonderful ones as well. I dealt with loss but I had the return of hope. I learned that life isn't always what you think it's going to be, but it doesn't mean it's bad. Far from it. It just means that you can put together the most well laid plan and then have to just sigh, shrug and move forward with humor, too many expletives, a cute toddler, and the world's greatest friends, when it all falls to pieces. Perhaps the pieces are better than the plan ever was anyway. 

Everything to Everyone

In the last 4 weeks I have worked 380 hours. I found out on Monday that the cause of the work, the hope and the reason, didn't happen. A different direction, everything I had pinned a lot of future plans on, had simply disappeared.  It was crushing.

I have been feeling like everything I do has for someone else and not me. I have tried and continually come up empty. This work, this had been for me and it failed. I spend all day working for someone else, pushing my dreams aside. I then parent and take care of my kid. I date but as we all know, dating in 2017 isn't exactly 'fun', it's mostly a chore. I run around all day, trying to be someone everyone needs, the person they hope I am. And I guess I'm still trying to figure out how I actually fit into that and am happy.  

Am I happier than I was a year ago? Yes and no. I'm in immensely better physical shape as I kicked my ass into gear in January. I love my house and the dogs I've been able to adopt here. (Yes, dogs plural. That's another story). I'm thankful every day that my career has allowed me to work from home, to be a part of my daughter's day to day life, even if it does come with less pay than I've made previously and a host of new, weird problems and isolation. I feel more in touch with who I was previously but I still struggle with how to fit that person into the constraints of my new life. Things are a constant mix of ups and downs that is continually hard to wrap my head around. 

I've spent the last two days doing some serious life evaluation and some deep mourning. As I talked with my therapist last night she paused me in the midst of a pity party spiral and said 'I'm not discrediting how you feel, you've been through a lot of struggle and turmoil over the last year. Things haven't worked out as you've hoped. But, can you take a minute and give yourself some credit for everything you've accomplished in the last two years? You've changed your whole life, taken on raising a child full-time, alone, while living in an expensive city. You're dating, you're back in incredible shape. You're not where you want to be but dammit, look where you are.'

It made me think of another story. A couple of weeks ago I took my daughter out to breakfast. The restaurant didn't have high chairs so she was in a regular seat. She kept popping in and out of her chair to make me laugh. In doing so, she hit her chin on the table and knocked over her milk. I scooped up the cup and somehow I hit the table, causing my iced tea to fly through the air, shattering everywhere. She started to cry because loud and scary, so I scooped her up and tried to clean glass. I felt like everyone's eyes were on me and I was shaking. I wanted to disappear as the silence in the restaurant surrounded me. A kind, older woman came by and helped me clean up. A few seconds later, our food was out, so I held my daughter on my lap to eat. The woman walked past again, turned and bent down to speak to me. 'I hope the rest of your day is so much better than this. You're more stressed about this than anyone here and anyway, who cares what they think? She's adorable and you're doing an amazing job. What a good momma you are.' I cannot lie, I burst into ugly tears as my daughter turned in my lap to pat my shoulder and say 'oh no, mommy. You okay? You hurt? I give you a kiss!' I was so focused on the mistake, on how I had failed somehow, that I wasn't paying attention to the sweet blonde girl in my lap. I wasn't focused on how good of a kid she is, and how caring she was to want to take care of me. I could only focus on how I wasn't enough in that moment. How being alone in that restaurant made me feel. How much I had wanted a partner to pass her to so I could clean up without help. I beat myself up and it took a stranger to remind me that things aren't perfect and that's okay. 

I think that ultimately is the issue. I don't ever give myself any credit. I'm always striving for something more. But what if this is it? What if I make mid-line salary but get to work from home? What if I can't buy a house but my rental kicks ass? What if I'll never be totally cellulite free but can fit in all my old, skinny, clothes again? I don't know the answer to that as I think part of me will always want to strive for more, always keep pushing. I know I will keep trying to be everything for everyone else... but now I'll include me on that list as well. I think it's time to figure out now only how to keep pushing but be happy with me and to give myself some credit. I've earned it. 

 

I Shouldn't Be Allowed in Public

When faced with a crisis, or issues, or hell even stress, my first resort is comedy. It's generally unintentional and I typically just say the first thing that comes to mind. It's inappropriate, 90% of the time, and in retrospect funny. 

Today was one of those times. I was at the doctor for a Very Serious And Scary Holy Shit appointment. During it, he had to do a pelvic exam. Sure, no big deal because after you have a baby you're kind of used to teams of people staring down your birth canal. Pelvic exams are basically a trip to the grocery store in terms of routine. I was honestly thinking about emails I needed to send when all of the sudden he went from pelvic to, how do I put this delicately, his entire hand up my butt? Like all of it. Like, his entire hand. In my butt.

Needless to say, I was startled. I loudly said 'well that was unexpected!' He looked at me surprised and said 'I said I was going to examine your rectum next' to which I had to reply 'remember how I'm deaf? I completely did not hear that'. So then we just blinked at each other awkwardly while his hand remained in my butt. I won the staring content and he removed his hand slowly and tossed the glove.

As we wrapped up the appointment the following conversation occurred. And this? This is why I'm not allowed to open my mouth ever:

Him: Sorry about earlier. Surprise rectal exams can't be fun.

Me: It's ok. Worse things have happened. I mean...dating in Los Angeles and all.

Him: (rapidly blinking) I wouldn't know.

Me: You could always join Tinder.

He very quickly wrapped up and left the room after that. End scene. 

The Magic of the Planner

My grandma died on Friday. It was both completely expected and a total surprise. Expected as she had been in bad health for awhile, and was, let's face it, 90. A total surprise as I had just heard from her a few days before via iMessage and she had been feeling fine. She ended up in the emergency room, rebounded and was expected to recover, then took a turn for the worse and died a few hours later. 

Her funeral is this coming Thursday, cross country in Florida. I have weighed every option and I don't see how I can make it happen. I'm hoping I can somehow, magically, pull it off, but in case I can't, these are the words I wanted to speak at her funeral:

Growing up I spent a few weeks of each summer in San Diego with my grandparents. They were, I'm sure, a welcome reprieve for my overworked single mom. To me they were complete magic and I counted down the days to them. Before I was old enough to fly on my own my grandparents would drive me there. I would lay across the backseat, reading books, and watching the desert fly by the window. 

Once in San Diego there was an agenda that was every kid's dream. My grandma made sure we would do every single thing that I wanted, mapped out to the the minute. We would go to baseball games, shopping, Sea World, the Zoo, the beach, outdoor concerts with a basket full of my favorite treats. My Grandpa was the star of the show, teaching me to boogie board and standing beside me on the giant map of the U.S. at Sea World in all the pictures. But my Grandma? She was the backbone. At Sea World she would schedule out the day, making sure we hit all of the shows we wanted to see and get prime seats at Shamu. She'd leave me with my Grandpa and rush over, hours early, to grab seats. She'd set down sweaters and sit in the sun, waiting for us to join the party she arranged. And there we'd be, sitting together in the best seats in the house, watching the fireworks and she'd point out everything, pulling me to her lap so I could see over people's head, nudging my Grandpa and saying 'Larry, lift her up so she can see everything'. And I did.

I saw a woman who loved her family. Who did everything in her power to make my summer's magic, even into adulthood. Who made sure that at some point during my visits we had a special lady's lunch, with real napkins and french dip sandwiches. Who when I went vegetarian, personally went to each restaurant around town and made sure they had meals I could eat. 

I visited them years later in Florida, coming to see their new house up in the Villages. When I went to bed that first night there was a cup of peanut M&Ms and a Sprite on my bedside table. She winked at me and said it was in case I needed a little snack. When I would wake up in the morning she was always up in the kitchen, cooking or reading the paper. Regardless of the time I woke up, be it 6am or noon, I was greeted with 'good morning sleepyhead, we thought you'd sleep the day away!' These were the constants that I came to know and love over the course of 36 years.

It was during that same visit that we went for a swim. As Grandpa swam away to take a break in a chair, Grandma turned to me and said, 'I worry about that man. I don't know what I would do without him. I just love him more than anything.' and teared up. I patted her and said he would be fine, and she shook it off, putting aside her worry, to turn back to me and ask about boys. As I look back at that moment all I can think is, I would be the luckiest human on the planet to find someone who loves me as much as Ruth loved Larry. And how beyond lucky I am, to have someone who loved me as much as she did. 

Sometimes the workhorse and the planner goes unnoticed. The meals and special treats, the trip planned down to the last detail, those things can become just accepted as commonplace. But I noticed her. And I loved her. And I always will. 

 

A Common Question

I have gotten the following question from a few people. It always comes at weird times and in various prose. But the core is always the same. Sometimes I answer it with pure positivity. Sometimes I don't answer it at all. But this time it came in via Facebook Messenger, from an old friend I hadn't spoken to in years. It was earnest and knowing her from college, she deserved an earnest response. 

She said:

Hey Meghan! I'm 35, and I want to have a baby. What's single motherhood like?

This came in a day after I landed back in New York. No, not to move, but for a trip so my daughter could visit her father. It was weirdly emotional, to go back to the city that I felt so wounded by. The flight was, in short, not good. My daughter had been an amazing flier for the 7 flights we took when she was an immobile, adorably squishy baby. As a highly spirited almost-two year old (side note: HOW?) it was more 'caged drug addict after a two week bender' than 'placid lap child smiling at strangers'. So, I was traumatized, emotional, and jet lagged when it hit my inbox. I downed a giant glass (bottle) of wine and decided to answer. 

Here's what I said:

Hey! So, I've had some wine so this may be long and rambling. Being a single mom is hands down the toughest thing I've ever done. It takes strength and patience I didn't know I had. It's a constant uphill battle of lows and moderate ups. You will feel more alone than you ever had in your life. You'll feel like everything is a struggle and that you can't do enough, be enough, ever. I feel like I am failing on a daily basis. Knowing that I, alone, am responsible for her emotional, mental, and physical/financial well being weighs on me at every step of my day. But. I also get all the love. So, if you want a child and the above hasn't deterred you, if you have a support system in place that you can cry to, lean on, and share the joy with, then do it. Because she's, and it, is worth it. I hope you're well. Whatever you decide I support it.

What I didn't say but wish I had the guts to do so:

This will kick your ass in ways you didn't know were humanly possible. You will, more than likely, have weeks where you are barely holding it together and it's only after your child goes to sleep that you can breathe and cry. You will rage against the world in those moments. You will cry harder, longer, and deeper than you ever have in your life. Your very soul will leak out. You will be angry. You will ask why you had to go this road alone. You will be jealous, oh so jealous, at every turn, when you see families with a loving and supportive father. When you see moms who have partners, who get breaks, who get to take care of themselves, you may actually vibrate with a weird rage you've never felt before. I haven't gotten to work out in almost a year. Why? Because childcare is expensive. When I'm not working I'm with my kid because I simply can't afford not to be. I would love to go work out, to burn off all these feelings in a fit of cardio, to get it all out, but when you're paying $20 an hour for someone to sit on the couch while your child sleeps, well, that becomes less important somehow. So you make it work. You shove down those feelings of worthlessness and sadness and rage and you swallow them like a bitter pill. You will, at some point, find yourself laughing less. In fact, you may not remember the last time you really smiled. Your child will make you smile, and often, but when you're wearing so many hats, and constantly just trying to keep one foot in front of the other for you and for them, well, it's not the same kind of laugh you used to have. Everything, literally everything in your life will be different and heavier. You will struggle. Oh, how you will struggle. It is a hard, broken, awful road and I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Think long and hard before you choose this path. But if you do, know that, even in your darkest moments, that child will look at you with a love bigger than you've ever felt. It will chase away the darkness and shadows of the burden, if even for a moment. And in that moment, you will know, in your heart of hearts, that you will continue to walk through hell for them. Because they deserve it. They are your very heart walking around outside your body. You will create and unleash a powerful, everlasting love. Be brave. Be stronger than you ever thought. Be a mom. 

That Moment

There's that moment when you realize it's your little one's bedtime. It's a sigh of relief because soon you'll have time to be you again. The you that you used to be. You can sit on the couch or call a friend or just breathe, really and truly. No one else needs you and the tension in your shoulders will slowly start to release. 

You nurse and you rock, bedtime stories read and lullabies sung. You put her in her crib and try to walk out. But then a little head pops up and a whimper is heard. 'Momma' is uttered plaintively and you know that tonight, that time you get to be you is going to be delayed. So you sigh, your shoulders still tight, and turn around. Shh you whisper. It's bedtime. There's a note of panic in your voice that you try to disguise in the hush. Back patting, hair stroking, nothing is working this night. 

Dejected and a bit defeated you lay on the floor next to the crib. Try as you might that toddler does not want sleep. She wants you. She wants to see you, the woman she relies on for everything, that's been buried in work and her cell phone all day, too busy to really look up. Sure, you did stories and played hide and seek, but your eye was always on the clock, counting down until you could answer those work emails on the couch, take a sip of wine and just be off for a bit. So you lay in the darkness as she talks to herself. She keeps looking up, locking eyes with you to make sure you're there, still, always. Minutes tick by and you can feel the tension settling in. There's so much to be done and these minutes mean you'll be to bed later and you need sleep. But here you sit. 

Finally she rolls over, you hold your breath, waiting. Then she does it, she sticks her hands through the crib bars and reaches for your hand. You put your thumb in her grip, and her whole hand pulls you, closer and tighter. 'Momma' she sighs, this time contentedly. And it hits you like a fist in the heart. That all this angst, this yearning, this over working, this being sad about boys who disappear or aren't the guy you hoped for, this constant stress of go go go, none of it means anything. So you look at her hand around yours, and you exhale, you relax, you forget everything else but the feeling of her hand. You watch her tiny blonde head bob, her eyelids flutter, her rosebud mouth relax. But you still keep holding that hand. Because there is nothing else you would rather do, in this lifetime or the next, than be there when she needs you. 

A Cautionary Tale

A lot of my friends are currently trying for a baby, or at the very least, entertaining the thought. They often text me about how adorable my daughter is and how fun parenting looks. Yes, fun. If parenting is fun then so is falling down the stairs, while using your face as a battering ram, and ending up covered head to toe in rug burns. While people douse you in lemon juice. So fun. Just 24 hours a day of a non-stop laugh riot. 

Sit down and let me tell you a story of just how fun parenting can be.

On Saturday my daughter and I had A Day. It began at 5:15am, her super amazing new wakeup time, and continued through grabbing my face while screaming the word Elmo for an hour, and kicking me in the eye. I pushed on. These are all things a veteran parent of a toddler can deal with, especially knowing that at some point they will go to bed and you get to reenact The Crying Game in your shower and drink wine. We staggered into her bedroom for a diaper change. She demanded I rescue her toys from her crib so I walked over and scooped them out. My back was turned for less than 5 seconds. It's at this moment I turned around, brandishing her Ernie doll, when I see that there is now dog shit on her carpet. I looked at it, I looked at her, and I knew what was next. I shouted in vain 'No! Stop! Stay there!' but it was too late. She had run, full speed, directly through the poop. 

As she skidded through the pile she looked up at me in bewildered horror. Yes, my child who hates touching dirt had just lived her own personal hell, she had touched poop. She immediately fell to the ground and began to writhe while bellowing the word 'poop' at a volume that could be heard from space. She didn't yet realize that the ground is where the poop lived and she had flung her tiny body directly into ground zero. She sat up and turned to me, now covered head to toe, not an inch of flesh missed, in shit. She stood up, panicked and flung her body at me, knocking us both to the ground, and you guessed it, into another pile of poop I hadn't yet spotted. 

This entire ordeal took exactly 30 seconds.

It was at this point, as I held my hysterical daughter, both of us completely covered in smeared dog poo and closed my eyes. I imagined myself back in Bali, floating in crystal blue waters. There, I had a cocktail and my C cup boobs were still perky and pointed skyward. I had not a care in the world. And as a bonus, there are no dogs on this island. That 20 second fantasy is literally keeping me sane still, two days later.

I, however, had to open my eyes and face the horror. As I am a parent and needed to secure my own mask before assisting the passenger next to me, I set her down, stripped nude and said ICK! with force. Then I burrowed down into the last reserves of energy and sanity I was tenuously holding on to and said 'isn't this funny? That silly dog didn't use the potty! And now we can go play in the bath. Yay for bubbles!' 

My daughter took pity on me and slowly nodded her poop covered face and said bubbles. I quickly stripped her naked and threw us both in the bath, keeping up the facade that this was just the most fun you could ever have. Best Saturday EVER!

So, my friends considering procreation: take a look look at your life. Because my dears, THAT is parenting. At some point, sooner than you would ever except you will find yourself literally covered in shit and you will have to smile and declare it an adventure. So, so fun. 

Out of Practice

Since January 2015 the scope of my day to day life has been remarkably narrow. My daughter, my work, my pets, followed very, very distantly by me. That's it. My friend pool shrunk by about 90% as I moved and they underwent life changes in a different direction. It meant that I spent a lot of time in that year and a half focused solely on a small human and nothing else. I've written about how cathartic it was, and truly, I believe it saved my sanity, but it came with some hiccups I didn't anticipate. Namely: I am out of practice with humanity. 

The vast majority of my relationships are virtual. I catch up via text or messenger with people. I post snapchat stories and then sit in my house with a book and my work. I mean, even my 'work' takes place in a home office wherein I speak to people via hangouts and email. That's it pretty much day in and day out. After my daughter turned 18 months old something shifted in me and suddenly the cocoon went from feeling like a safe harbor to suffocating. I wanted out, I wanted a life, and I wanted it now, dammit. So as I am apt to do, I dove in. No wading for this girl because that would be a smart choice and when have I ever made those? 

In this dive I have found that I have forgotten how to be. Full stop. I still carry so many war wounds from my past that I feel like I'm constantly on edge. I am prepared to be hurt, brutally so, so I run at the first pretend inkling of it. I'm reactive. I'm jumpy. I'm constantly looking around the corner to protect myself from what's coming. I brace myself for an impact that's not going to happen. I spoke with my therapist last night and she said that she's not exactly surprised. That while I've healed and processed what I haven't had to do is take this new me out for a run. I need training wheels as a human, but weirdly they don't make those. How do you explain to new people that you are really actually kind but it's going to take awhile to get there? That they need to treat you like you treated your abused dog: with abundant understanding, kind pats, and guidance? That sometimes you may pee on the rug and run away but they have to just know that you're figuring out this new space. Most people aren't up for that game and understandably when my jumpy, reactive self comes out, they flee in terror. Past me would have, too.

I've learned that vulnerability and true human intimacy now terrifies me and shuts me down. Which, truthfully,  I find somewhat ironic, as over the last few months I've been the most vulnerable of my life in this written space. Maybe again it's the safety of cyber because it's less real here to put my heart into words than it is to allow actual kindness. Being close to someone reminds me how very much it can hurt. So I run and flee and fling words. I push back and away. I freak the fuck out. I don't know what it's going to take to stop this, to be honest. When it happens I spend days beating myself up and retreating back further. I'm lucky to have people that keep kicking me out of that space and remind me that eventually I'll remember how to be human again. I spoke to a friend last night and her words moved me to tears (which less face it, is remarkably easy). She reminded me that I am loved. That I am a good person with a good heart. And that there is no way this story ends without me finding a spectacular human. For right now I'd settle for feeling normal in my skin again. I guess these are my training wheels. Perhaps I'll add some glitter. 

 

Another Member of My Weird Ass Tribe

The world has made me deeply sad lately. It's mass chaos and I have considered building a bunker to keep me and those I love safe. But, I know I can't do that (unfortunately) and so we have to just keep pushing on and figuring out a way to live without fear. To adjust to the new world order of daily, heartbreaking news, and an orange presidential candidate espousing xenophobic rhetoric while being applauded. Frankly, it's terrifying but here we are. Yay for us, world. We seemingly have not learned a damn thing. 

In the midst of all of this world confusion a friend sent me a text. She had found a dog that had been deliberately abandoned by her owner. You see the dog was microchipped and my friend took her back to her home. The owners said they didn't want her and closed the door in her face. Without thinking I said 'I want that dog'. I may not be able to build a bunker but I sure as hell can take in a dog that needs a bit of love. And so she arrived, terrified and thin. She didn't yelp or bark and walked with her head down. She shook with fear whenever she saw a broom and I immediately knew she'd been abused.

So for the last week I've spent most of my day on the floor. Coaxing, petting, murmuring. Introducing her to toddlers and cats and love, teaching her that rugs aren't for peeing on. I found out she has a pretty decent heart murmur and doesn't have the longest life expectancy. I know that's more than likely why she was tossed out on the street. It's made me even more fiercely protective of her, less willing to leave her side. I probably self identify with a dog a little too much, guys, but I think it's ok. I've lavished on her the type of love I would have liked to have received when I escaped my old home too. Under it, in just a week, she's blossomed. She is playful, fun and bounces like a bunny. It's helped me really and truly understand what it's like to heal. That it's ok to accept affection and how to give it in return. To admit that I had healed (at least mostly) and it was ok to be afraid but it was also ok to show some joy, too. She was a missing part of our home and my weird tribe that I didn't realize existed. It's a beautiful thing, even if it does bring the count of incontinent mammals that reside in my house up to 2. 

My life has gotten infinitely more chaotic but with it has come a better awareness of the pockets of happiness that exist on a daily basis. Like the fact that my daughter calls stickers 'happy'. That she now winks when she smiles. That my dog runs in delirious circles of excitement when I come back in the room. That my grumpy old cats curl up in my lap when I take work calls. I've been laughing more and actually, truly smiling. Time is pretty incredible. It may have taken me 18 months and my dog a week, but both of us, we are where we are supposed to be. Finally.