I was just sitting down for a bit of mindless blog surfing after
being crippled kicking arse at Belly Dancing and was reading Pioneer Woman. Shuddup. You know you do too. She is awesome.
The post was about changes in plans. Lifes twists and turns to bring you to a completely different place.
With a little help from Murphy, the Almighty Smiter and a mix of good and bad decisions.
Ten years ago I was pregnant with Boo, The Damn Emos were 4 and 6, we were living in our adorable ‘starter home’ (the first house you buy before going on to bigger and better) working part time and MPS was happy in his job.
If you asked me where I would be in ten years I would have told you I had it all planned out baby. Down to the minutiae. Yeah, I had a plan. It involved dinner parties, world travel, beautiful home and university funds. I would be a high flying executive, perhaps another rugrat, driving my BMW and fucking awesome.
Well, ten years later, I am fucking awesome. The other stuff, not so much.
I get asked if I am bitter about the ‘hand I have been dealt’. I get asked if I had my time again would I wish for a different life. I get asked if I am jealous of those around me with all the things I wished for while I sit in my rented home, the dream house long gone, drive my 10 year old car, which I still love thankyouverymuch, stuck working around Boo’s schedule knowing that I will have to give up work in a few years to homeschool, MPS still on the long road to recovery…
Well put it that way and I want to punch you in the pancreas and then stab one of my stiletto heels through your skull while you are on the ground writing in pain.
We all have dreams and goals, but life has different ideas. You can sit and wallow in what could have been, or suck it up and work with it.
And one of those things is my Boo. My dude. My little guy.
He is hard. He is difficult. Some days I hide in the bathroom and weep at the enormity of it all. I wake in the middle of the night terrified of what the future holds for him. My forever toddler. How un-fucking-fair it is. Why him? Why my boy? Why ME? What did I do to deserve this?
But it passes. More light than shade. More laughs than tears. More you-are-fucking-kidding-me-he-said-what? Bwaaaaa haaaaa haaaaaaa’s.
My girls come home, give me a passing wave and make a beeline for their brother. They smother him in kisses, talk to him about his favourite subjects. Forgive him anything.
‘God I love that kid Mum’
They are better people for having this whirlwind, this tiny terrorist, for a brother. More compassionate, more understanding, more patient.
I am a better person for having this amazing child in my life. More patient, more tolerant, more assertive.
So that person I thought I would be ten years ago, that superficial materialistic selfish person, I am glad I never got to meet her.
I think challenges make you grow as a person and make you a better you.
And I like the me I have become.
But day-um, I still wish I had a pair of Malono Blahniks… meh, I ain’t no saint.
So what about you? Are you the person you thought you would be 10 years ago?