Perfection is the goal. To present ourselves as golden rays beaming happiness. It’s not always so. I can redefine beauty in the terms of motherhood, but I still play another role. The role which began almost 12 years prior.
He didn’t have a ring and we had only been dating for 8 months. I was crying and an emotional Pisces can break through the thickest Scorpion skin. He had never felt such an emotional attachment combined with fireworks every where else. And he knew, we both knew from the beginning. I called him my ‘kismet.’ I didn’t know at the time when I rejected the first proposal it would be seven years later before I heard those words again.
And it wasn’t perfect. It has been one of the briar patches in our relationship. He told me to pick a ring off the internet, keep it under a grand, and I did. He tried to take me to the museum to make it some kind of a real thing, but the roads were icy and too steep. It was a week before Christmas and I already knew the proposal was coming. It was either coming, or I was on my way out the door. I had waited long enough. So we headed back to our little apartment on this particular not special evening and he asked me to marry him. I asked him to get down on one knee because it was proper.
I hate telling this story because it hurts. He robbed himself of the excitement for not going out to find a ring on his own and doing the surprise proposal instead of the forced one. And I sold myself short. As I look at this unbearably hard lesson, I also look around where we are five years later. Despite a bad engagement story, we have created a beautiful home and filled it with the most precious toddler in the world (I know I am being bias on this because that toddler is ours, but he is pretty damn cute.)
Beauty is felt on the inside as I play the role of mother. However as a wife, I struggle. I struggle to want to be sexy. To feel sexy. To broadcast any sort of sex appeal into my relationship. I keep hearing these words pour out of my mouth “I am only a mother now.”
Throughout the maternity leave, I told myself it would pass. It was postpartum depression and once I returned to work, and started putting makeup on in the mornings again that these feelings would pass. It didn’t pass. It is almost two years later and it hasn’t passed. When my son was four months old, I dyed my hair pink in some hopes to reclaim a bit of femininity.
But it was just pink hair. It didn’t spark me into wanting to get all dressed up. It didn’t make feel more womanly. It was just pink hair.
Looking back, the roles changed. And I am adaptable. I was a girlfriend who became a fiancee. Then I transitioned into a wife and finally a mother. And I stopped caring about any role I had once my son arrived. I want him to have the best childhood. And that is my main care. As my husband robbed himself of engagement excitement, I know I am robbing myself of the experience to be a wife and a mother. Women can be both. Once upon a time I was lady who loved corsets, thigh high black boots, and hours spent on my sexy makeup look. I don’t know where that lady went. I don’t know when one has a child if that lady dies. But I can’t find her. And I really am not looking too hard for her either. I’m too tired to look.
We have a running joke in our house. “Poker sounds awesome on Tuesday.” Because before the baby came, we played poker with our friends almost every Friday for over ten years. And on Tuesdays we are excited about having friends over and playing. Then Friday comes, and we are exhausted. And staying up till 1 or 2 a.m. is like running a marathon after you smoked a pack of cigarettes. There just isn’t enough breath. We are the same way about going out to dinner. It sounds great on Tuesday. But on a Friday night where a grandparent watches the little one overnight, we want to be lazy. We indulge ourselves in relaxation.
People will say “you always have to work at your relationship.” And I know this is true. I work a full time job along with writing articles, short stories, and this blog; I don’t want anymore work. I’ve worked since I was 15. I know how to work but I don’t know how to be someone that I don’t want to be.
Sexy isn’t in my vocabulary right now. And I make no apologies for that. As with my engagement, in five years a lot of things change. A Pisces always has one thing, we always retain hope. Maybe one day a glimmer of the old me will return, maybe she won’t. For now, this lady is perfectly fine in her white stained tank top and plaid pajama pants with her corsets locked away in a closet.