Yeah, so, remember that post where I wrote that I was learning patience and resilience?
Last weekend we had a small family gathering at my parents’ house in honor of the Fourth. Only it was on the fifth.
These events are always difficult when T is away. I mean, I love my family – I really do – but watching everyone else cavort merrily with their spouse only emphasizes the piece of my life that is missing. And it keeps getting harder. Two of my cousins and their wives were there, each with a new baby, and one has another on the way.
I try not to measure myself by anyone else’s yardstick, but right now it’s hard not to compare my life to others’. This was the year T and I were supposed to buy a house and start a family. Instead, he is overseas (again), and here I am, at 35 years old, with no house, no kids, and no idea what the future will hold for us once he gets back.
I am thankful for what we do have – each other, jobs, a nice place to live, family. And I know that everyone else’s life isn’t perfect, no matter how it may appear on the outside. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t wallow in self-pity every now and again. It doesn’t mean that the green-eyed monster won’t rear its ugly head when I look at all the smiling, happy faces.
Back to the gathering. Everything was going swimmingly. Literally. My mom had bought little blow-up baby pools for the tiny tots to splash around in. It was very cute. And I don’t even like babies.
I know, I know. I just said we wanted to start a family. We do. “A family” sounds wonderful, but I am not a big fan of babies. All babies do is eat, poop, cry and throw up. Most of them look like troll dolls. If I could squirt one out when it was two or three, that would be great (aside from any obvious complications due to size), but I can do without the baby thing.
I’m going to make a great mom, aren’t I?
Where was I? Oh yes, the gathering. After several hours, I wanted very badly to talk to my husband whose call I had missed the day before. I wanted to hear his voice, to know that I had something, too, if only I could wait a little longer for it.
I had tried to keep my phone near me all day, but attire that is appropriate for a 95-degree day doesn’t offer a lot of storage space, if you know what I’m saying. And if you don’t, what I mean is, I had no pockets.
Late in the afternoon, I went downstairs to get a brownie out of the freezer. I wasn’t in the basement for two minutes when Murphy showed up: as I was shutting the freezer door, I heard my phone ring upstairs.
“C’mon, dogs,” I said to Owen and his cousin Rocco as I dashed up the stairs.
Unfortunately, in my hurry, I shut off the light at the bottom of the stairs and when I got to the top, I couldn’t find the other light switch or the doorknob. I fumbled around frantically, finally found one or the other or both, and burst out of the doorway into a living room full of people. I tripped over the dogs, lunged for the phone, and just as my fingertips touched it…it stopped ringing.
“Frankfurters!” I yelled.
Only, it was a different and much shorter word that I shouted, but one that also starts with F. One that instantly endeared me to all the mothers in the room.
I made my way outside where I could be by myself to listen to T’s message, my only communication with him that day. That’ll teach me to have dessert.
I was irrationally furious that in a roomful of adults, not one person thought to check my phone or answer it for me. This, of course, was completely unfair, but I didn’t care. I wanted to be mad, because it pisses me off that a missed phone call can mean so much to me, and so few people know what that’s like. It is so frustrating that I can’t even pick up the phone and call him back like a normal person. I wanted to throw something.
So I did. I threw my phone into the woods.
So much for patience and resiliency.