Popcorn in the Sink
This was written the end of March, one of the half written articles that I confined to the archives while I navigated how vulnerable I want to be. I feel like publishing it so here you go my lil chickens
Welp. Today did not feel like a miracle.
The last three days have not felt like miracles.
I’ve been writing a lot about how God has been renewing this sense of awareness in me, how the quiet magic in the little things has been returning. The days have started to feel like little miracles.
That has not been the case this week. This week I am hanging on by a prayer and cursing myself for giving up drinking and pot. I could use a bottle of wine and a joint.
Roman hasn’t been sleeping. He has four teeth coming in and is standing on his own. His appetite has increased three fold. He’s become more attached to me than ever, something I think is being underpinned by the fact that I leave to an office three days a week now.
For the last three nights, he has been waking up almost every hour. His hunger and teeth and new ability to stand up are all seriously wrecking the sleep schedule we painstakingly worked on together. I remember the elation I felt two weeks ago when he slept through the night for the first time, how I felt like I was really getting the hang of things. Well, children are humbling.
His teeth are also coming in rapidly. He has six teeth, nearly eight. We play this fun game where he demands to nurse and then bites me. When I yelp, he starts laughing only for it to turn to crying if I pull him off my chest. So, I tentatively begin to nurse him again before he inevitably bites me again. We go around in circles with this, my innate desire to make sure he eats and the impending dread at his bite battling one another. I try to give him a bottle and solids but he prefers to nurse when I’m present. Usually, I prefer it too. We had dealt with this when his first teeth came in but I gave him little signals that let him know not to bite me. He seemed to get it. Not these past three days though. Not these three days. It’s a fun little war we’re having.
Oh, and he screams when I eat anything. Now that he’s eating solids, he demands a bite of whatever I have in hand whether it will choke him to death or not. If I calmly explain that the popcorn I’m eating is a hazard, he throws his head back and screams a guttural sound I’m sure makes my neighbors question my motherhood altogether. Sometimes I just put the snack right back into the pantry without attempting to eat it. Or I hide in the bathroom while shoveling as much as I can into my mouth in a 2 minute span before he notices my absence.
All of this is to say, it’s not all little miracles. Sometimes it’s laugh out loud, holy fuck how am I gonna do this kinda days. Sometimes my prayers sound more like pleading. Just one more minute of quiet, of sleep, of calm. Bargaining with God for one more handful of popcorn. One more moment of distraction so I can finish the page in my book. A day of inches rather than miracles.
I ran into someone I used to know on the beach the other day. I didn't recognize him. He had gained a lot of weight and a few more shitty tattoos. He was sweating even though the sun hadn’t yet broken the coastal mist. Even from the way he said hello, I could tell he was going through it. I’ve been there.
He said, “It’s just my turn I guess. My turn to go through the shit. Guess I’ll just figure it out until it lifts.”
The way he talked about it, it was as if someone would eventually turn off the tap he was drowning under. Just had to be waterboarded a little longer and it would lift. Tread water til then. His attitude and posture reminds me of a Richard Rohr quote:
“In the first half of life, we fight the devil and have the illusion and inflation of “winning” now and then; in the second half of life, we always lose because we are invariably fighting God. The first battles solidify the ego and create a stalwart loyal soldier; the second battles defeat the ego because God always wins. No wonder so few want to let go of their loyal soldier; no wonder so few have the faith to grow up. The ego hates losing, even to God.”
I’m glad I ran into my friend, even as he was clearly struggling. What a beautiful mirror for me to see myself. The parts of myself that feel like I’m under a running faucet being waterboarded by circumstance. The part of myself that has my hand on the tap.
“We all become a well-disguised mirror image of anything that we fight too long or too directly. That which we oppose determines the energy and frames the question after a while. You lose all inner freedom.”
We didn't sleep last night again. I dragged myself out of bed to change Roman’s diaper and start our little morning routine. Put the kettle on for a strong cup of coffee and packed our beach bag to go bask in daybreak. Threw a sweatshirt over my pajamas and called it good enough. Last minute decided it was probably a good idea to brush my teeth.
As Roman sat in his play pen and Flynn waited impatiently by the door, I walked to the bathroom. Grabbed my toothbrush and red German toothpaste I was known so well for when I was an outdoor guide. Went to turn on the tap and saw a piece of popcorn in the sink, left over from last night’s grand adventure of sneaking a snack. A laugh bubbled up within the pit of my stomach and I couldn’t help but double over at the sight of it.
This is my life now. Dictated by an eighth month old ball of furious will. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Thank God for humor, thank God for humbling.
It makes me wonder how many choking hazards God has hidden from me. How many times I was furious with Him for not being given the popcorn in the sink.
