Hello, my name is Mrs. A and I have a confession to make. I have been brainwashed by my child. The crazy towhead has taken over my brain in a way I thought was never possible. I mean, I worked at a pre-school for years! I thought I was immune, or at least forewarned that this type of thing can happen if you’re not careful. I’m ashamed of myself, and a tad disappointed.
I woke up this morning as if out of a fog. (Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I got 9 hours sleep for the first time in over 6 months.) I realized that there’s been something wrong with me for some time now. I go to sleep singing Sesame Street (and worse, Caillou) songs. Yesterday I wrote out a grocery list in crayon without thinking it was funny or ironic. The towhead took a bite out of some playdough the other day and I became angry instead of laughing as she tried to pick the chunks out of her teeth. In the midst of playing blocks, dollies, and pirates I seem to have lost something – my sense of humor!
Like old pictures you discover while cleaning out the closet, I seem to have looked inside myself this morning and exclaimed, “I forgot I had that!” Deep in the midst of packing I begin to see parallels. Things are not where I last put them, but buried in a box somewhere. And with the stacks of boxes rapidly filling the garage, I’m not even sure which box anymore. But I have to find it, even if it takes Monty Python, the Three Stooges, and a flashlight. We will search until the wee hours of the morning – slapstick, British-humor, and all – until I find the Knights who say Ni, who I’m positive are using my sense of humor as a tennis ball amidst the shrubbery.
Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. So here I go. I miss dirty jokes and raunchy references in conversation. I used to use chopsticks for just about everything, from eating noodles to salad. I don’t anymore, and I’m not sure why. As much as I LOVE training aikido, I really miss putting on sparring gear and trying to slam my foot into the side of someone’s head. The knife that sat on my nightstand for years, right next to the book I was reading, has been relegated to a drawer somewhere where towhead can’t find it. Though it’s absence, and towhead’s fingers and body parts fully in tact, are not something I regret, I can’t remember the last time I played with my knives.
I’ve always pitied women who had kids and then became nothing but their children. In this long and wonderful life I object to letting any person dominate your identity, be it your kid, your spouse, or a role model. There are too many amazing things hidden inside, each one of them worth exploring. And I’ve let that voice inside me become stifled after too many years of careful cultivation.
So if you hear loud bawdy songs floating through the frigid air sometime soon, it’s just me, reconnecting with my dark side.
