I absolutely love my daughter to death. She is 21 - almost 22 - months old and, despite the temper tantrums complete with high pitched screaming, the food throwing, the waking up 5+ times in the night just to have me come cover her back up, I wouldn't trade her for anything. And, most days, I wouldn't trade my husband either, although he's more negotiable than the child. However having said that...I am completely mystified how my life got to where it is.
I should back up. Less than 4 years ago I was living in Wisconsin, the Dairy State, I don't care what California says. I had an apartment of my own. I had the same job I have now but the paycheck was all my own. It still never seemed like enough but, in retrospect, I was sittin' pretty. In addition to the aforementioned luxury I had a closet full of pretty shoes. Heels, mostly. Some high, some short. Some stiletto, some chunky wedges. Thrown in for good measure were the sparkly flip flops, dressy sandles and mint condition chucks. But it didn't stop at the shoes. I had a ton of cute pants - jeans, capris, dress pants. Adorable tops to go with them - funny sassy party shirts, business casual attire and my vintage t's (well ok they weren't vintage themselves...but they were made to look like the t's that would now be considered vintage).
A little to the right of the closet was my armoire to hold all my accesories (a girl can't have too many). Bracelets, baubles and bling - you name it, I had it. And I had it to match every conceivable outfit in my wardrobe. The Icing had nothing on me! Purses - because if your bag doesn't match there's no point in going out. Decorative scarves - although I wore them mostly as belts. It was quite the fine collection, all of it. Of course I didn't appreciate it all at the time. It was still a collection that paled in comparison to that of my best friend. But it was a fine collection none the less.
In those days when I looked in the mirror I saw dark brown, sometimes reddish, hair that, while UNMERCIFULLY straight, was always styled or neatly put up on Sloppy Sundays. There were no wrinkles. Hell I even had cheekbones.
My place was far from neat - I will give you that. I am lazy and things can get downright messy. But it was MY mess. There were no toys, no little socks, no crumbs or waffle bits.
I could come and go on a whim at all hours of the day and night - and I did. If I felt like a drive at 2am I went. No where in particular. It didn't matter because it was only me that was in the car. No one was waiting for me at home to feed them, change them, bathe them or put Elmo in the DVD player for them. I could even pee without an audience.
Ahh those were good days.
Fast forward (and that's exactly what it feels like happened in my head) to today...my time is very rarely my own. Journaling rarely gets done, this blog was created a year ago I think, because by the time I have a spare moment I am exhausted. I haven't been out for a night on the town since last August and that was because we were visiting relatives in WI and I was still home by midnight at the latest. My time is not my own. My money is certainly not my own. My house has not one spare inch - even in my bedroom - that doesn't SCREAM "A CHILD LIVES HERE!" My face is fat and aging, my hair is littered with greys. I can't even tell you when I last put on makeup or touched a curling iron to my hair.
The accesories are gone - no point in keeping them. The scarves, mere dress up attire for my daughter. The purses have been weeded out and the ones I kept, thinking I may someday need one, are weighing down a coathanger in the closet, collecting dust, getting touched only when I am desperately searching for any spare change.
The clothes are too small. The jeans that I kept mock me with snickers when I even dare to think maybe someday they will fit again. I can hear it. The shirts, for the most part, have been donated. No sense in letting them waste their way to being relics when someone else can utilize them.
And, perhaps the saddest thing of all, are the shoes. I have weeded some of those out too, keeping only my favorites. But the ones the fit my post-pregnancy feet would be completely insane to wear with the one pair of pants I can fit in to (and wear daily). My vast collection has been reduced to a single pair of cargo pants (purchased because my single pair of jeans wore out) and various old t-shirts I have managed to stretch. As it is winter they spend most of their time covered my a bulky sweatshirt. The same sweatshirt that is also my coat all winter because the coats I did have, again, do not fit.
I keep telling myself, for the sake of our VERY limited budget right now I need to get back in to these clothes. But really it's about more than the budget and the clothes. I think it's a total sense of loss of self. It was not just one thing but the culmination of many things over the last 3 1/2 years. I am living a life I never imagined for myself - good and bad - and it all happened relatively quickly. I can't seem to find the kick in the pants I need to pick myself up, dust myself off and make the most of what I do have.
I think back to when I was young. Raised by a single mom (a Catholic school teacher to boot), there was not a lot of money in our family. She always kept me fed and clothed but there was definitely a budget. I remember spending every day of my high school years trying so hard to pretend I was not poor; that I had just as much money as the other kids whose parents were doctors, lawyers, investment bankers. And, looking back, it was exhausting. And now my worst fear has come to fruition. I literally have NOTHING to even pretend that is the case. I mean I don't even have enough to pretend we are middle class.
I want so badly to give my daughter more so that she doesn't feel the same way I did. And yes I get that a) at this age she does not know the difference and b) I should be teaching her what REALLY makes a person. But it's hard when daycare bills are always late and we are scrounging through old purses to find change to buy a pack of diapers or a gallon of milk. I think THAT'S why I keep going back to that old closet, that old life.
*sigh* It won't always be like this though, I hope. I have recently gone back to my Catholic roots and, actually for the first time ever, decided to let go and give it all up to the Lord. I know there are brighter days in my future. I know I will slowly begin rebuilding my closet (it may be in a much larger size but I can work with that). Here's to hoping those days are soon.
Happy reading all...
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