Bubble. Not to be confused with BubbleS.
Every morning I wake up and for a half a second I hope this was all just a horrible nightmare. It's not. But that half a second of hope is nice. We don't have a lot of hope right now. We have a lot of hurt.
We have three kids. Three different times we have welcomed miracles into the world. And each time there's this wonderful sensation that the world stops turning. That it's just me and this new, delicious smelling, beautiful creature we created, and Dan. The three of us inside this magical bubble where nothing can hurt us or bother us. Each time we are able to forget that life is going on outside of our little magic bubble, just for a little while. It's this wonderful respite and time to reflect on how lucky we are. Then the bubble pops, you realize life hasn't stopped for the rest of the world and you've got poop on your hands. But you still have this amazing creature to get to know and love and nurture.
10 days ago my family moved into a bubble. It's not a magic bubble that smells like newborn baby and blessings. It's a horrible nightmarish bubble and we can't escape. Our world stopped turning. Our matriarch, our queen, is sick. And there isn't anything that anyone can do about it. But somehow, life is continuing for the rest of the world. Somehow everyone else is able to carry on with their lives. They can post political articles on Facebook or complain about how long they have to sit in car line or share pictures of weekend festivities. And 10 days ago, all of that was normal. Didn't bother me one little bit. I participated most of the time. But now? It all seems so unimportant, so irrelevant. So trivial. You still grocery shop? Didn't you hear my Mom is dying?
I have to live inside and outside of the bubble. I can get a finger out some days and other days I can get half of my body outside the bubble. All of me won't ever escape the bubble. But I have to fight my way partly out of the bubble for our kids. For those three (formerly) delicious smelling miracles. Because they deserve to have Mom around and present. They still get to laugh and play and do fun things because they're kids and because their Bubbles (my Mom) doesn't want anyone sitting around being sad for long, especially them.
Come to think of it, the whole family has to fight their way out of the bubble. If our time is limited, we are allowed to have time alone and miserable inside the bubble where the world stopped turning. But the bubble is dark and unhealthy. It smells like the musty, moldy basement at the house we grew up in in Webster Groves. It's the time outside the bubble where life happens and where memories are made and where we laugh and drink the good wine and eat dessert. That's where this time will be savored, cherished, etched forever in our minds and our hearts.
I wonder when we will find a balance. I imagine it will take some time. And each day we all will probably spend some time in the bubble. Some days longer than others. Maybe it will take reminders that the world is still turning to pull us out, or part of the way out of our bubble. One of those reminders came to me this weekend in the form of a giant booger my 5 year old handed me and said 'look how big this one is Mommy!'
We have three kids. Three different times we have welcomed miracles into the world. And each time there's this wonderful sensation that the world stops turning. That it's just me and this new, delicious smelling, beautiful creature we created, and Dan. The three of us inside this magical bubble where nothing can hurt us or bother us. Each time we are able to forget that life is going on outside of our little magic bubble, just for a little while. It's this wonderful respite and time to reflect on how lucky we are. Then the bubble pops, you realize life hasn't stopped for the rest of the world and you've got poop on your hands. But you still have this amazing creature to get to know and love and nurture.
10 days ago my family moved into a bubble. It's not a magic bubble that smells like newborn baby and blessings. It's a horrible nightmarish bubble and we can't escape. Our world stopped turning. Our matriarch, our queen, is sick. And there isn't anything that anyone can do about it. But somehow, life is continuing for the rest of the world. Somehow everyone else is able to carry on with their lives. They can post political articles on Facebook or complain about how long they have to sit in car line or share pictures of weekend festivities. And 10 days ago, all of that was normal. Didn't bother me one little bit. I participated most of the time. But now? It all seems so unimportant, so irrelevant. So trivial. You still grocery shop? Didn't you hear my Mom is dying?
I have to live inside and outside of the bubble. I can get a finger out some days and other days I can get half of my body outside the bubble. All of me won't ever escape the bubble. But I have to fight my way partly out of the bubble for our kids. For those three (formerly) delicious smelling miracles. Because they deserve to have Mom around and present. They still get to laugh and play and do fun things because they're kids and because their Bubbles (my Mom) doesn't want anyone sitting around being sad for long, especially them.
Come to think of it, the whole family has to fight their way out of the bubble. If our time is limited, we are allowed to have time alone and miserable inside the bubble where the world stopped turning. But the bubble is dark and unhealthy. It smells like the musty, moldy basement at the house we grew up in in Webster Groves. It's the time outside the bubble where life happens and where memories are made and where we laugh and drink the good wine and eat dessert. That's where this time will be savored, cherished, etched forever in our minds and our hearts.
I wonder when we will find a balance. I imagine it will take some time. And each day we all will probably spend some time in the bubble. Some days longer than others. Maybe it will take reminders that the world is still turning to pull us out, or part of the way out of our bubble. One of those reminders came to me this weekend in the form of a giant booger my 5 year old handed me and said 'look how big this one is Mommy!'
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