Lost on the Sea of Motherhood

The last time I blogged was over two weeks ago.

And I've said this before, but I feel I must say it again.

When I'm so busy living, I simply do not have time for writing.  I titled my blog Woman Wife Mama, and I have been, for the last two weeks, Mama Wife Woman.  I think fondly, nostalgically, about my writing, looking longingly over at the computer, feeling the keys beneath my fingers even though I know it will be days and days before I have the opportunity to type once more.  I have been drowning in this life that I love so much that I have not have the chance to come up for air and reflect on just how good I have it.

Yes, I mean to say that I have not had the chance, not that I have not taken the time.  It has not existed to take.

There have been times in the past when I have been lazy or procrastinated writing that essay, email, letter, blog, or reading that good book, or making that long phone call, in the name of good old brain drain rest in front of the television.  This gluttonous laziness has not been the case of late.  I searched desperately for time alone, time to myself, time to breathe, relax, blog.  It truly did not exist.

My sisters and my mother converged upon my apartment shortly after my last blog.  It was a three day female festival.  Yes, my brother, husband, and nephew were all here, but we all know that when women are in the majority, it is a female festival.  Period.  We gossiped, we ate, we drank, we shopped, we played games, we enjoyed the children, and I barely got enough sleep among the preparing, planning, doing, laughing, and loving to function.  Once they left it was a matter of recuperating from the visit, cleaning, grocery shopping, getting back into routine.

Then someone died.

No one I was close to, but someone in my step family, so we hosted my stepfather for a week (and my sister for a day) in the midst of the wake, funeral, family get-togethers, and such.  This visit of course involves more planning, shopping, accommodating, visiting, laughing, and loving.

In the middle of all the fun family fabulousness I was tutoring my students through their high school finals, which added hours to my normally manageable work week.

Finally, things calm down, and I turn to my husband.

"Hi, stranger, what's your name again?"

I barely get those words out when the Super Bowl arrives, my fridge is stocked with man goodies, ready to go, and my baby wakes up from her nap, an hour before the game, before guests begin arriving, with a fever of 102 degrees.

Suffice to say I have been in anxiety mode for the last four days.  I stayed home from work the first day, but when I realized she would just have to ride out the fever, I entrusted her to my brother and husband.  Trust?

A text conversation between Carlos and me while I am at work:

"Is she drinking water?"
"Yes, a little."
"A little?!  She has to stay hydrated!"
"She's drinking."
"Did you give her the medicine?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"5 mL, like the detailed instructions you left said."
"Are you sure it was 5 mL?  You read the syringe correctly?"
"Really?"
"Sorry, I know.  I'm a freak."
"Yep.  I know.  Tone it down."

Once again.  Poor Carlos.

So here I sit.  My baby is fine, fever free all day.  Sound asleep.  My husband off to night class at the community college.  My brother in bed early to get sleep before his early shift tomorrow.  As far as I know we are neither receiving company or traveling anywhere for the next month.

I have so much to write about, so much to reflect on, so many issues I want to cover:  life in the ghetto, a visit to the emergency room, being a tutor, but all I can think about right now is, yes!  I'm free!  Now, why have I been so damn busy?

Oh right, woman wife mama.  Mostly, for the last few weeks, my life has been mama mama mama.  That says it all.  And before I turn to myself, I notice my husband waiting ever so patiently for a brief conversation, a moment of my time.  And I hear my husband pounding up the stairwell, home from class, now.