Freedom? Yes, please.

I fled the increasing heat of the desert this week for cool Colorado, to wallow in some sister-and-her-toddler-time. Miss G is with her dad’s family, Miss L is with her mom’s, and Dan is working under his car. I was happy to leave town and couldn’t wait to play with my niece... but it’s also poking around mighty close to a big ol’ mess I don’t want disturbed.

The wrangling in my mind has been worse than usual. In this corner, we have a rookie contender: accepting my life in its current state and moving forward, sans future children. She’s fresh, and ready for a fight. But the incumbent champion-- babybabybaby-- packs a punch like George Foreman driving a Mack truck. It’s gonna be a night to remember, folks.

Would coloring all day with a cute li’l ankle-biter just underline the life I don’t have? Or would it remind me how busy babies are and help me appreciate the my comparative freedom?

So. This week.

Peep’s cheerful morning chatter drifts from under the nursery door. We eat graham crackers and read pop-up books together while I get drunk on baby-head smell. Our walks down the driveway take 47 minutes... one way. And there’s a thrill of fear upon entering any place of business so foolish as to keep breakables on low shelves. For a girl who wanted another baby so much it hurt, this week should have been the emotional equivalent of swallowing broken glass. Instead, I am swimming in... angstlessness. Whether it’s a word or not.

We’ve had a pile of crazy good fun that can only be summarized by the phrase ‘life with a toddler.’ My personal dilemma took a vacation during my vacation. I’ve been-- well, happy. There’s a little sad and a little regret mixed in with that, but it’s just makes the happy richer somehow. What’s that called again?

Mid-trip, my weekly newsletter from The Prosperous Writer showed up. This week’s blog theme is ‘joy.’ Ahhh-- thanks, Christina. Just the word I was looking for.

I’ve been drenched in joy this week.

Joy is Happy, after Happy goes through some serious shit and comes out standing fierce on the other side. It’s Happy, all grown up. Happy is a golden retriever, all slobbery and uncomplicated. Joy’s the greyhound.  

Joy is acceptance of my right now, regardless of what happens in that boxing ring upstairs, the sunlit birch against a dark sky. If I've succeeded at finding that, today is a true independence-from-baggage day.