This morning I stopped by the grade school to get the boys registered. At least one of them still needed their birth certificate on file, so I brought those along, in addition to an accidentally kept math textbook and two outgrown uniform polo shirts. It turns out the office was closed, but the principal’s son saw me at the door and let me in.

I know there have to be boundaries between sort-of friends and work and those messy times when things like this cross. I didn’t want to take advantage of anything, most of all her kindness or time. I quickly filled her in on why I’d come, collected the papers, asked her when the school’s summer office hours were (M-Th, 8-noon). She did copy the birth certificates to give to the secretary for when she would be in the office again.

She asked how I was doing and proceeded to share that she’d been crying lately almost every day. I’d been doing that too but it seems to have calmed for the present time being. We both have oldest children (boys) who are going to school. I’m kind of over talking about it now, it just seems like it shouldn’t be this big of a deal. I don’t really care to admit how much this whole thing has been messing with my heart in harsh ways.

There are definitely other issues involved. Like the possessive, clingy, insecure, desperate parts of me are affected by this. And throwing their fits. I’m too old for this, too mature for those qualities, and God can be a rough surgeon sometimes. It really is better just to own who you are without trying to hide it. It’s too much work to be anyone but yourself, especially when it comes to fessing up and dealing with your problems.

With me. Next to me. That is where I want him as I’ve been thinking about him night and day. Today I was imagining our hug before he leaves. I was squeezing his torso like a boa constrictor suffocating his prey, digging my face into his chest, crying, and I wasn’t embarrassed. Other times I imagine being more composed, mature, and saying a prayer with my arm around his waist in more of a side hug, praying like my dad did.

This really is silly. I have been thankful though for the women who have shared their experiences of going through this. Childhood really is broken up into trimesters like pregnancy was. You have the years through age 5 as the first trimester, 6-12 as the beautiful golden years of the second trimester, then the 12-18 ages as the final trimester with its fullness, readiness, and births. They have to leave you somehow.

His was the only birth that I had an epidural with. His also took the longest with pushing 2 1/2 hours. Looking back now I think the nurse was inexperienced and had me start pushing too early. For me pushing was always the hardest part. I think if I had to give birth now I would just take the epidural and pray it wouldn’t leave me with pain or unwanted side-effects. Some pains we simply don’t need to go through again.