Letters 3 & 4: "I was a woman at slight remove from my ordinary identity"

Oh, Sybil,

I went out Saturday night. Leaving behind all the kids, who stood at the door and asked why I had to go, and my sweet husband, who patiently nudged them back inside away from February's bite, I left them. As always, it was exhilarating and felt a little daring: who is this single woman, lipstick and a purse so small it couldn't possibly hold crayons and matchbox cars and sandwich bags of cereal?

I came home to them, of course, but for four or five hours I was a woman at slight remove from my ordinary identity. 

I am shy in person. I always have been and can't imagine what it would be like to be freed of that cloak but, baby, I was born this way. The party I attended was a group of women I know online. A funny thing, the way we now build communities. Like you and me. What is this invisible world? And the truth is, I thrive in it. I can be gregarious at a keyboard. 

So these ladies and I, we all collaborate on a common website. We communicate with each other online every day. We have a Google Groups and a Facebook group. We're all Facebook friends. In one sense, I know each of them very well. But it cannot be avoided that even though I've been with the group for more than three years, I'm one of the newest members. Many of them go back six or more years, and in the early days, they had many in-person gatherings. It's my shyness cloak distorting truth, maybe, but in their presence I always feel inhibited, the newbie, the one they don't know as well as they all know each other. 

I confess, Sybil, as much as I knew it would be a great evening, I also dreaded it. It's so hard for me to walk into a room like that. My heart beats fast and my senses heighten and I question every word out of my mouth just as it escapes in a potential burst of embarrassment. But I went. And should "going out for a ladies' night with friends" be considered an accomplishment? Well, yes, I think it should. 

Sunday morning found me exhausted. It's a toll, being sociable through my shy cloak, and with the last smudges of mascara scraping my cheeks I found myself bone-heavy tired. I didn't want to get up. But one child, two children, three soon found themselves in our bed, climbing on me, saying all at once "did you have fun?" and "what did you do?" and "where were you?" and "I'm HUG-REEN!" (that's how George says 'hungry;' he's almost three, my sweet baby with the endless appetite). 

And I was home in my element, being clambered over as if they were puppies and not children, and I felt comforted and lonely. This is my family and I was back with them, I in their arms and they entwined in mine. But at the same time, I was acutely aware that my Gal About Town status was as faded as my makeup. I was worn out by the challenge of socializing with women I admire so much that they intimidate me, but I was also exhilarated by the afterglow of my accomplishment. 

Is it a big deal or a little thing to have a fun night out? It's everything and nothing, a personal challenge I happened this time to manage well, a memory of a fun evening. It's life as me, life as mom, life as a woman who made the puzzle pieces click together without glue or force or luck. 

My children yammered on and around me and my sweet husband, downstairs, must have been brewing coffee. I smelled its restorative aroma rise up to me and I thought about this family, that night, this blended existence between personhood and parenthood. 

Not every conclusion ends in the emotion of accomplishment but this one was good. I lay there in bed, imagining corking that exact feeling to savor again at future moments of need. This feeling should come with a merit badge, I thought. And a nap.

So naturally I swung my legs off the edge of the bed and went downstairs to make oodles of breakfast.

Much love,

Agnes

Dear Agnes,

If it were possible to reach through my computer screen, I would give you a big high five and celebrate your successful night out! Daring to be brave and to step outside of your familiar is nothing short of heroic. Being outside of your comfort zone is often a wretched thing, but I am so proud of you for embracing it and for contributing to conversation at the risk of sounding foolish! (Though I find it hard to believe that anything you have to say would do anything less than contribute to the quality of conversation being had!).

You and I are in slightly different places right now, Agnes. You're a few years 'ahead' of me! You see, I just became a Mom a few months ago. This new title is so new to me, in fact, that my personal journal is scribbled with several entries that say something along the lines of, "When will I really feel like a Mother?" I find myself staring at Baby Girl, realizing that I am and will be to her what my own incredible mother is and has been to me. It's daunting. It's thrilling. It's terrifying. It's such a privilege! The moment I saw the "+" sign on the pregnancy test last March, I immediately and irrevocably adopted the title I have dreamt of for years: "Mother." In my eyes, I was 100% a Mom. However, now that she's here I've realized that it is also role that takes time to grow in to.

See, when I go out without Baby Girl (to class or the grocery store and such), for the most part I feel completely normal. It's still comfortable for me to be out and about without her. Now, don't get me wrong, I miss her when we're separated. Of course I do. Often times, I find myself looking at the people around me and thinking, "I'm a Mom! You can't see it on the outside, but 3 months ago my life and heart were radically changed. Right now you are seeing just one woman sitting in one bus seat but the truth is that my heart is not with me anymore. The cavity where it used to reside is empty and now it lives in this tiny little Lady that I call my daughter." It makes me look at the others around me and wonder about the mystery that comes with strangers. What secrets do they carry? What do the details of their lives look like? Anyway, I guess I'm sort of in this limbo stage where I feel fully me when I'm with her and fully me when I'm without her. Slowly, though, I can feel that the woman "without Baby Girl" is less and less who I am. It's good. It's new. It's a change that needs to happen and I'm embracing it as it comes.

I dream of the day when our family looks more like yours. When Baby Girl is the oldest of three, and they come rushing in to greet me in the morning and children I haven't met yet make my heart explode by saying things like "HUG GREEN." Until then, I'll continue to embrace each day as it comes.

It's always lovely to hear from you, Agnes. I hope that since your night out on the town, you've been able to find a healthy balance between personhood and parenthood. I hope that you're being brave with your days - even the 'ordinary' ones - and that you're feeling that same feeling of contentment with the start of each morning!

Most Affectionately,

Sybil