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I might be getting too old for this

Last night hubby and I did something we haven’t done in quite a while. We went out without the Boobah. My gracious and wonderful sister-in-law came over while we snuck off.

Okay, not really. But kindof. We quietly left, as the kiddo was already in bed. He never even knew we were gone. Yet I did. My heart did.

Let me back up. I have been looking forward to this outing for several days, ever since SIL said she’d come over. It was exciting. A date! Music! Libations! Motorcycle ride! The weather has been increasingly nicer. So much so that J has been riding the motorcycle to work. We used to go on rides all the time. I miss that. A lot.

I never realized how much I missed that time until we had a chance to go out. I don’t have a lot of people around who can babysit. I haven’t been building that network of people. I didn’t want to impose on the SIL, my best friend has been out of town for months and the daughter is just too busy. So we take turns going out to do things. Watch the daughter’s band. Meet up with friends. Or we just do things that can include the Boobah. It’s not that huge of a deal most of the time.

Until the daughter has a gig late at night. I have a hard time going out by myself that late at night. Meeting friends? Fine. Going solo? Different story, for me anyway. So we made plans to go together (and I worked up the courage to ask SIL to babysit).

And then, the night before, I started thinking. A little too much. I do that a lot. I tell myself I’m trying to cover all the bases, make sure I’m prepared. But the truth is, I worry. A lot. If I’m not careful, it can turn into a panic attack. So I start worrying about what would happen if, well, something… happened. J is an excellent careful driver. I trust him implicitly. But other drivers aren’t so careful about motorcycles. You hear about it all the time.

My worries can keep me from doing things, from enjoying things. From reaching out to meet new people, make new friends, find new business. From living.

So I sat on the back of that motorcycle last night, trying to quiet my fears. To just enjoy our time together. It eventually worked, but we were most of the way there before I could relax.

But we had a great time. Daughter’s band did a great job. We got to see her for a few minutes afterwards. It really was a nice respite, something we’ll have to indulge in more often.

As for hopping on the motorcycle without a care? Those days are over. It doesn’t mean I won’t get on the bike ever again. I love going up to Julian, out to the Hideout, and other places on the bike. It’s a lot of fun. But I have to think more carefully about it. And no matter how distasteful it is, we need to plan for the worst scenario. So I can worry a little less. And enjoy life a little more.

Crying game

Motherhood changes you. It shifts something in your core, tinges how you look at things. I never realized the deep fundamental difference it would make down to my soul.

I sat here, at my desk tonight, sobbing unexpectedly. A short scene on TV reduced me to tears in a brief 30 seconds. Even now, just the memory brings tears to my eyes.

I am not the person I once was. I could watch movies and TV shows without a second thought. Oh sure, things sometimes scared me or disturbed me. But I could distract myself (oooh, something shiny!) and move on.

Not any more.

I was watching Leverage on TNT. It’s new to us, but I’m really beginning to like it. There was a scene in which one of the main characters talked about his son, who died when a treatment was denied. Just them talking about it wasn’t too bad.

But when they flashed to the scene where he remembered his son dying, showed him running into the room to hold his son in his arms after the heart monitors flatlined? I broke down. I sobbed that ugly way when you’re so upset you can hardly breathe, your head pounding from the intensity of it.

Because I think of parents who have lost their children too soon, and then I get a little scared, worrying about my boobah. Wondering how anyone gets through something like that. And not wanting to ever, ever find out.

I’ve always been a little emotional. I cry at movies, poignant scenes, even those darn tissue commercials that were on for a while.

But this? Is something deeper. Something that strikes my core. I can’t bear to watch a child in danger, hurt, or killed. I can’t even read about it. I read Deep End of the Ocean several years ago. I doubt I could handle it now.

Does it ever get easier? This paralyzing fear? This crippling emotion that grips your head and your heart? Is there a way to get through motherhood intact? I don’t know.