rhyme or reason

I can’t remember the first really bad thing that happened to me. I wonder if time has dulled the senses or if I was lucky enough to spend my early childhood without such memories.

I remember the first big lie I told, and seeing the situation implode should have cured me of that for life, you’d think, but like everyone else, I never thought I would get caught that next time. I would be smarter about it. My father is fond of hyperbole, though his exaggerations are more for dramatic effect than to deceive anyone.

I do remember the first time my father told a story about me while I was in earshot that I wanted to correct. I had told my mother of his error and was told that it is very impolite to correct an adult like that. She informed me that if I had a problem with it, I should take it up with my father, who promptly brushed it off.

My father is a sweet and kind man. His sarcasm and his way with words are enviable, unless of course, that funny story everyone’s laughing at is about you, and it’s only partly true, and you’re made to be the fool.

paint and pillows

Last night we had a conversation. The kind that makes you a little sad. Well, not you, but me.

Mothers day; from the end of April I start to feel the sadness. The twenty-fourth is one of those would have been due dates and it really gets ramped up the days before the holiday, with commercials on full blast.

He knows my feelings aren’t neatly resolved.

He knows I still struggle with my unrequited motherhood.

He never wanted children. He’s always been firm in this belief, and he’s comfortable with it. He loves children very much, but did not want to be a father. He’s a great uncle, and fantastic with his friends kids, but for a number of reasons (mostly related to his own father and his childhood) he decided not to reproduce.

He feels like I’m trying to change him.

I don’t think I’m one of those women, always trying to “improve” and change their man. Still, the old saying about women wanting to change their man, men wanting their woman to stay the same has some truth to it. I have suggested some nicer jeans. I do encourage him to eat more whole grains.

I want to paint the spare room. Maybe a pale blue-green, add a little throw rug, make it nice. This makes him uncomfortable; So does my sadness about being childless.

I have known from the beginning that he didn’t want children.

Honestly, I don’t want them that way either. I can’t have them easily, and the processes I would go to become a mother are done for me, they’re less than desirable. I would not want to put myself through that heartbreak again. He’s not holding me back from anything. Still, I  grieve over what might have been.

I have known from day one that he didn’t want kids. The same way I have known how he feels about marriage, and how he does not want to go down that road again. Just like I know about his preference for white walls in the house.

These things don’t stop me from loving him. In fact, the way he holds strongly to his beliefs and opinions is one of the things I love about him. But, it doesn’t mean I agree with all of it, or that I ever said I felt the same way.

Sometimes I want to paint a room the color of sea glass. Sometimes I want to be his wife. Sometimes I still cry about not being a mom.

And I don’t know if that will ever change.