2/14

After reading some of my comments, it's clear that people think I have some kind of karmic debt that I'm repaying to the universe. It's possible that's true. It's also possible that I just don't chronicle enough of the, "Awww....schmoopy, poopy" moments of my life in this format.

Maybe I focus too much on the negative (like a tooth cracked on a conversation heart. As MNS said, what kind of f'ked up metaphor for love is that?). Part of me worries that I'll alienate people that either don't have kids or are struggling to get/remain pregnant if I write about all the cute, wonderful things that Zac does on a daily basis. Part of me thinks that I might hit myself on the foot with a large hammer if I only wrote about my kid day-in and day-out.

I do talk about him quite a bit in everyday conversations. Somedays, it feels like he's the only thing that I've done right so far.

In March, my Peace Corps friends are hosting a reunion. A conflicting schedule in Houston means that my parents might not be able to watch Zac for the weekend. When I asked about bringing Zac with me up to Maine, I was told in the kindest, most sincere terms that it would be better if I didn't bring him to the party.

That leaves me in a bit of a bind. Even if I flew with him (which I promised to never do alone again. I still have some bruises for trying to carry a toddler that refused to walk, a diaper bag, a carry-on bag and a 20 pound car seat while sprinting for my connecting flight 3 concourses away), I would still have to find someone to watch him for me and couldn't bring him into the house where I was staying. If I left him at home with a patchwork of babysitters and friends, I would be worried about him and undoubtedly bore my friends to tears with stories about him.

I'm not sure what to do. Clearly, the simple answer is: "Just don't go" and I'm debating that point in my mind. After Peace Corps, everything went downhill. In New Hampshire, I kept getting fired from jobs for being "too depressed" and I met the FOB and decided to overlook some very obvious drug and alcohol problems to be with him. I abused my body and left my mind to rot. I fought with my family and isolated myself from a number of friends.

Then I got pregnant and I moved to Texas. I started this blog. I lived with my parents and I gave birth. After all of that, when I see Zac walking or playing in the bathtub with his cups, I'm filled with the knowledge that he's the best thing that's happened to me so far. I love the way he holds my hand when he walks and how he gets so excited when I pick him up and let him play with my hair. I love his smile and his laugh. I love the sad face that he gives me when he's working up the energy to cry.

Especially, though, I love how proud he is after he makes a basket:

I'm not sure if I'll go to the reunion or not. I'd really like to and I think it might be good for me to reconnect with the people that I shared so many difficult experiences with. I just know that there are times that I wish I could share the love I feel for this little boy with everyone.