Comfort Food

Tonight was Chicken Fried Steak with buttermilk gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans.  Comfort food. 

Monday would’ve been my parents 36th wedding anniversary.  That’s just a random bit of information and not helpful to know, other than it means you know I had my mom on the brain.

Kris and I were having a conversation about different people we know that just seem to have kids for the sake of having kids.  Like they’re a status symbol.  Like they’ll save them from their lives.  It’s not about sharing your life with another little person, teaching them and watching them grow.  It’s about what a child will do for you.

I never wanted kids.  I don’t make much of a secret out of that. 

When I was little, I wasn’t around kids enough to really think about having my own someday.  By the time I was old enough to care, I had enough things happen in my life to know that I would never want someone else (especially someone I was responsible for) to endure the pain and loss that I had.  And when I was even older, I knew for certain I would screw a kid up.  Bad. 

I’m not sure what really changed my mind, probably a combination of things.  I remember the day I felt like I was okay with losing my mom.  I knew I was okay, and I knew that I had no control over it.  Just like I would have no control over the things that would happen in my children’s lives.  Some things just happen.  Death is one of those things.

I also remember the day when I was okay with the decisions I had made and the person they had made me.  They weren’t mistakes.  They were decisions.  Moments in my life that I had taken advantage of my free agency.  Mostly I realized I had more courage (and maybe sanity) than I originally gave myself credit for, because I pulled myself out of that place.

That’s when I met Kris, and I knew from watching him with his nephew Kevin, that I could have kids with him, and it would be okay.

Truthfully, though, I never thought I would enjoy motherhood like I do.  Motherhood is my comfortable place. I may not always do everything right, and it’s hard (3 days of baby diarrhea make it harder), but it’s the best place to be.  I love my babies…out of control, unexplainable love.  The best thing is that I don’t care about the sleep I’m missing, the things I don’t get to do anymore, the money I don’t have, or the friends I don’t have. 

I don’t have many memories of my mom, but I remember being 8 years old and riding the Matterhorn at Disneyland  with her.  In that moment, she was my very best friend.  It’s okay (now) that she’s gone, because for the briefest time, I had the greatest mom EVER.  I’d sacrifice anything to make sure my kids have that one memory of me where they feel that way.