The Wordmistress

Big Girl

Three years ago tonight I was in pain.  I was in labor but no one really believed I was actually going to have a baby. Upon my arrival at the hospital, I was urged to go home and return to my normal activities. Er, um, Dr. Lin, I said through clenched teeth.  I don't think I could stand this type of pain at home. He finally agreed to send me up to the "fake labor" room for the next 6 or so hours where my friend Fran and I walked around for hours, wondering if I was, indeed, in labor.

The nurse, bless her wicked heart, asked me if I had a low pain tolerance.

But I was to be redeemed when I got that epidural and spent the wee hours of the next morning staring at a monitor, my doting mom, the dream team of Fran and Dan and then greeted the new morning with just a few little pushes and the arrival of precious little Mia. My brother Ross listened to the whole ordeal from the other side of the door. That next day was the last time I saw him.

Three years later a lot has changed. People I love are gone. I have a good job.  Fran and her husband Charlie just brought back their new daughter Lila from China this week and we are so incredibly happy to have her home that we are busting with joy.

And Mia is nutso. She is dancing and singing around like a total dodo bird. I think she's very excited about having a birthday. For me, her birthday will always be tied into these memories. Still, I couldn't be more excited or proud.

I think it's  okay to sit back and celebrate three successful years of somehow keeping a child alive and thriving! Oh yeah, she's a pretty good kid on her own too.

The Guys That Got Away

Everyone's got 'em -- the guys that got away. Those fellas you courted. Or didn't. Or wished ya did and in that in good old fashioned retrospect, you wonder, woulda? coulda? There are the serious loves -- for me, really just one: Rob from college. And there were scenarios ... like Mark who I certainly loved in a way, in a way that was combustuous for both of us.  And Adrian, Mia's dad, who I do love, but not really in a romantic way.

But there are those fellas. Like Steve who I used to work with who moved to Poland with his young wife. He and I had such a connection and I knew that we both felt it and never acted on it but it was so ironic that years later, I had a child with a young man from Poland. Or another Steve I knew who I took a writing class with and I used to drink with and hold hands with sometimes. And did we kiss? Maybe. It's hard to remember in my rapidly advancing age.

There were, in fact, a series of Steves. When I look back on the men I have known, er, that way, I realize that I have dallied with a number of Steves, Robs, Davids and Marks. Oh yes, there were other names thrown into the mix I am quite embarassed to admit. A particularly wonderful summer relationship with a Michael in New Haven stands out. But those names seem to take precedence. Interesting fact about the sexual proclivities of a middle-aged woman from the northern suburbs of Milwaukee? Or dribble drabble. You decide.

I don't know why I was moved to remember, because so often I just move forward and keep on keeping on. But I have to admit that I'm so glad that these men, these names, have moved through my life. And I do stop and wonder. Woulda? Coulda?