Pregnant Toys

Her toys keep getting pregnant and giving birth to each other. This is not how her brothers played. None of their toys were ever pregnant. They were too busy shooting things and doing tricks.

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Today I wrote a lengthy post about raising children. Then I accidentally deleted it. After frantically searching my computer for the file I found the first draft of a blog post entry when I intended to start it a year ago. I had forgotten all about it. The memory of it is stunning. I guess some things are meant to be. Here it is. I’ll rewrite the other one tomorrow…

Alice has just finished the bath that I started. It usually goes that way, I go into the bath to clear my head and she finds me and jumps in.

Well I have too much to say as usual and no way to organize it so this may just be a wasted effort. But I can’t really think about what else to do, so I’m writing anyways. if you don’t like it just stop reading right now.

I don’t know what success means. I really don’t. There are a lot of successful people I don’t like and pastimes that I guess are popular that I just don’t care about.

I think searching for God matters. And laughter. And taking care of children. Not much else.

My husband is an unusually good man. I don’t know if I deserve him, I haven’t decided yet. There is a lot I haven’t decided yet. I haven’t decided if this is worth reading or not. That should tell you something.

I think a lot of things I shouldn’t say. And I say things I shouldn’t have thought of. A lot of it is funny though so it kind of makes it ok.

Alice is insisting she is pregnant. I can hear her through the door. She is telling her father “Yes I am! I am pregnant!” His calm denials make me smile. No, he says. Mommy was pregnant with you. His voice is always kinder and higher pitched when she confronts him with Life’s miracles. “Huh?” Her honest wonder hurts somehow.

Her toys keep getting pregnant and giving birth to each other. This is not how her brothers played. None of their toys were ever pregnant. They were too busy shooting things and doing tricks.

I’m trying to figure out if I was this bold at her age. She is 3 and 1/2. I think so. Which terrifies me now that I am older and so easily contained.

I relish in her defiance. I secretly rejoice each time she screams “No!” Those are my screams I think.

I like to think of my daughter ruling the playground with an iron fist. Like the gangster I dreamed would rescue me one day.

A badass in her mother’s name. A lioness.

Rainbow

Sailing on the waters of change
Waves as catalysts
Sea foam dreams
Greenish-blue froth of truth around the edges of my mouth
Secrets bubbling out lightly,
In a damp, salty spray
A swift and arching newness of life,

As a mighty Rainbow.

Author: bravelybipolargirl

I’m a writer and stay-home mother of three. I live with my husband, mother and 4 1/2 year old daughter in Wasilla, Alaska. My two teenage sons 14 and 16 spend summers and holidays with us. I am diagnosed bipolar 1 with psychotic features and my mission is to eradicate the stigma of mental illness in our society.

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