Missing me

There we all were again in the juvenile court.  Two obtuse parents playing tug of war over the most precious child in the world while the rest of us stood by soaking in the chaos.  Dad is just angry and bitter and can’t let anything go and mom’s reaction to that is to continuously make false accusations that he’s sexually assaulting their daughter in an attempt to cut off his visits.  The child, understandably is a neurotic disaster.  If one of those morons wasn’t my client I’d have grabbed both of their heads and cracked them together.   The hearing was finally over, the parents left the court room and I muttered feciciously under my breath, I need a drink.   I wasn’t expecting the rousing round of agreement that came from every other attorney on the case and the child’s therapist but suddenly there I was, blissfully downing my second wheat beer at 4:00 in the afternoon and reveling in the camaraderie and laughter of other professionals as equally disgusted with the system as I am. 

I blew off my afternoon with the hoofed one (eh, it was 30 degrees outside anyway) so I could order some chicken wings and for the first time in years, I felt like the me I know inside was coming out to play.  And had the good doc not been 1) actively working on one of my cases 2) ten years younger than me (how is someone 10 years younger than me old enough have a PhD???) and 3) fresh off being dumped by a fiancee, I probably would have looked his way more than just five, maybe six, times.  The truly old me probably would have disregarded those things to begin with and gone for it.  For a brief moment in time I was back, free of the stress of my reality.   And then as the evening wore on, my colleagues contacted their respective spouses to say they were heading out to a new place so please come join in the fun.  The good doc had no one to answer to.  And then they turned to me.  The buck stopped quite suddenly there.    I so wanted to partake.  No one for me to check in with, true, but me, myself, and I were all the N-man  had to count on.  As the bar hopping plans jovially developed.  I paid my tab and excused myself to the little girls room.

 When I arrived there, the reflection in the mirror betrayed me.  The crows feet around the eyes were deepening and told the tale of a thousand steps chasing after a growing toddler.  The circles under the eyes more than whispered the secrets of countless sleepless nights not spent in the throes of passion.   The old me may have been there on the inside.  But the exhausted, over worked, single mom me was clearly out there for all the world to see.   I sighed.   As my comrades and I said our good byes and parted ways, I missed the me of then.  Free.  No responsibilities.  Chipper and optimistic.  Ready to stay up laughing until the early hours of the morning.   Not hardened by the harsh realities of my present world.  As they stumbled down the block for an endless evening,  I got into my car,  dialed the daycare center, and heard my  voice identify me simply as somebody’s mom.    I headed for the highway with little effort, pulled on, and came to a screeching halt  in the sudden traffic.  The parallel symbolism to my evening was deafening.

Forty minutes later I pulled into the day care parking lot. As I entered the building the first thing I heard were the giggling shrieks of the N-man as he sprinted from the dining room. Monkey!  Monkey!  He came tearing around the corner laughing hysterically, turned my direction and shouted HELLO, MOMMY!!   He couldn’t get into my arms fast enough. And suddenly,  that was good enough for me.  There is not a gathering in this world that could beat his company.   I am this beautiful, personification of perfection’s mom.  I am a MOM!!  That is exactly what I am supposed to be, exactly what I WANT to be above and beyond everything else that I am called on to be.   The N-man babbled on and on about his afternoon all the way home, laughing in delight at everthing we passed and later cuddled into my lap in front of the fireplace.  My counterparts perhaps were enjoying a stiff bloody mary but me, I had it much much better reading a book about a tomato with a burrito stapled to its tie, three times, with the true love of my life.  Nothing can top that.