I don't know why, but virtually since the thought of my child became a reality, I have been exceptionally emotional. I feel more than ever before, I love more than I ever thought I could and I hurt more than any one ever has.
Every story I hear (about a happy or sad child), each unselfish moment I witness and just about every Oprah show I see, leave me in tears. I cry about everything! I'm not depressed, I'm actually over-the-moon, kick-up-my-heels happy and that, I'm pleased to say, is a direct result of the love I share, with a little boy called Z.
My son has changed my life (not just in the usual way that having children does), he has opened my rusty, broken, locked up heart, to emotion. I now love to have a good old cry. I've found its cathartic and I've never felt so free.
With quite a few long term relationships and one divorce behind me, I've finally learnt something about men. It's not always their fault. There, I've said it. I've learned that it takes two to Tango and if he drops you on the dip, maybe he just had sweaty hands and slipped. Of course, there are those cretins that do deserve to rot, but over the years I have burned and spurned many eligible men (over tiny misdemeanours). Men are just like women, only less sensitive. I have always taken everything so personally and now, at long last, I've chilled out. You see, I didn't want my son to meet that crazed, self
|
|
|
righteous, tough broad. So, I sent her packing. I want Z to be ridiculously happy and proud that I'm his mum and that meant taking a good long look at who I really am.
Today, I think that I would define myself as a mother, a writer, an entrepreneur (I'm an ideas girl) and a bit of a nut (in that order). It doesn't take much to make me happy now. I've gone from high maintenance babe to no maintenance mum. As much as I would love to look nice all the time and wear expensive clothes, I really couldn't be bothered, because I'm much too busy pretending to croc-roll my son on the lounge room floor and trying to squeeze my butt into one of his trikes, for a one-on-one race down the hall. Life is strange.
I was the girl known for partying. If it was happening, I was there. I had a serious shoe fetish (I owned an obscene number of heels) and had my hair done every month, along with my nails etc etc etc. Talk about high maintenance. I now have my hair cut once in a blue moon by a friend, my nails are a mess and I haven't left the house after dark for well over a year. The beautiful part about all this, is that I really don't care and I love that I cry over silly things. I'm out and I'm proud, an emotional wreck and loving it.
You know what? I'm Flying Solo and having the ride of my life!
Thanks Z.
|
|
