Time Machine

I wake up every morning really scared, and if I don't pass out from exhaustion, I go to sleep that way too.

I cry every day.

I am realizing people are not who I thought they were, including myself, and learning things about my life I did not know.

I only put food in my mouth so I have an answer when people ask what I ate that day. And people ask. Every day.

I can only consistently respond to two or three people unless it's work-related, and only because I suspect they'd take some kind of action if I didn't. If you're waiting to hear from me, it's not you, it's me. For real this time. Sometimes it's you, but not now.

But, at the very center of my heart, there is a seed of happiness and I feel it straining to sprout each day.

And I know it's going to do it.

And I'm so excited for its progress that I am not as affected by the scared/sad/starving/solitude as I should be. I'm really proud that I can keep that little seed safe. I water it by trying to grow my business and make a new life, and I try really hard to make sure it sees some sort of sunshine each and every day, no matter how small or stolen that moment is.

I have a million funny stories for you -- little kid is killing it lately in true save-the-day fashion (he is often the sunshine for my seed), but it seems disingenuous to gloss over how things are going when I've packed you all along for the journey.

So, we're still on the Oregon Trail and no one has died of cholera yet (but little kid has given it a go with Strep twice now), and that's something to celebrate.

I'm something to celebrate. And I know that now.

So there will be funny stories again, and soon they won't all have to be prefaced with "Maybe I'm dying and IT'S FINE!"

The other day I asked little kid if he would go back in time and kill baby Hitler and without hesitation he said, "Yep."

"Okay, but remember, he'd be a baby. You'd know he was going to be Hitler, but you'd have to kill a BABY."

"I'd stomp it to death like a puppy."

"Like a puppy? Well, wait, that's --"

"I'd wear cleats."

"Uh, wow. Dude."

"It's Hitler, mom. You can't raise me to change the world and then be surprised I could stomp baby Hitler to death. I wouldn't kill a puppy unless it was Hitler too, though."

So. I don't know if I'm doing good at parenting or not, but there's that.

I think everyone other than baby Hitler will be okay. Probably.