Catching up with Myself.

The summer before last, I sat on the floor of the living room. We sat on the floor because there was no furniture. I wasn't alone, my friends were there. They were telling me what was wrong with me, sort of like an intervention, but without any intention of helping me back up. I nodded and agreed, admitting to my character flaws. When it was over, nobody felt better. When it was over, I was still broken inside. I became determined never to own up to my weaknesses again, so when I found out that I was pregnant in November, I held my head high and stood by my decision. 

It was easy because I had nothing to loose. Through bouts of morning sickness, I sat in bed and finished an orchestral arrangement of "Songbird." School was easy. I had made friends, lost them, made them back, and then lost them again. I had spent the summer next to a cooling pond, drinking white wine, and not furnishing my living room. The house was cold, the windows unsealed, and with the attic door open for Reuben to get up and down, it never seemed to warm up. I had hedged my bets on superficial relationships (big surprise), and found myself abandoned there, cleaning up the mess after shows and scrubbing burned beans off the bottom of my pots and pans. There were the teenagers I took in to make myself feel important (or charitable). They slept on the spare mattress, and ate my food until I had learned my lesson and turned them away. 

The next semester started strong. I took a credit-overload, worked part-time, and had an internship at the Special Events Department of Spartanburg. There was more changing then the size of my belly. I had made myself invisible to cloak any residual doubts. I focused only on my studies, and figuring out how to give birth to a child. When I graduated, you couldn't see the size of me under my robe. I left college with one friend, a saxophonist. He was black and used to buy me lunch in the dining hall. The last time I saw him was while I was finishing out my internship, managing the stage I had booked at the street festival. He told me he wasn't going back to school the following year. 

In my last two months of pregnancy, I worked hard at Earth Fare and got ready for the baby to come.  I surrounded myself with other young moms, and put together the nursery furniture. 

He came a week and three days past my due date. I had him out of the hospital at a birthing center. Labor was long, but peaceful, and he was here after pushing for an hour. A beautiful, 9 lb boy. He slept in between Cooper and I that night. He slept the whole night through. For a while, I rode the high of having a new person in my life. I learned how to breastfeed, and carried him a sling. I through myself into being his mother, but like other things I've thrown myself into, I faltered.

Nursing is a time to do nothing, and my thoughts have begun to catch up to me. It's been a year now since I've gone to get a drink, gone to a show, or met a new person. I don't do anything I used to love, and it's wearing on me (as well as Cooper). I understand now why you should wait to have children, no matter how ready you are physically. I love Phineas, but I feel empty and lonely inside. I really have broken everything that I've touched. Phineas is my punishment, but also my chance to start anew. I'm just having trouble letting go of the past. It creeps into my dreams and sinks into the bottom of my chest. I'm replaying scenarios over and over again. Swimming in a blue sea of regret. That time in my life is over, so why can't I say goodbye?