Playing House

Sometimes it feels like I'm playing house. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I'm still a tiny 12-year-old girl with buck teeth, fat, kinky plaits and crazy ideas of what it means to be an adult. In reality - I am so far from being that little girl. About 90lbs and 12 years away, to be frank. But as I roll out of bed, jarred awake by the shrill alarm and toddler fingers poking my eyelids, as I pad across the room in search of my glasses, wearing the same nightgown I wore as a teen, at that moment I don't feel 'big' enough to be a mom. To be responsible for another human being. Yet I am and have been for almost three years.

It still comes as a shock at times to know that 'mom will do it' means me. I'll do it. That the tiny voice roaming through the house yelling for MOMMMY is really searching for me. At times the reality of it seems so absurd I completely detach from it. I instinctively want to turn to my mom, a more adulty adult, to take over. I often find myself staring in awe at my child, his adorable elfin face, his tiny frame, his round tummy that he likes to pat after I've cajoled him into eating, his small hands that reach out for me so frequently - as if he too needs to be sure this is real.

We have quite a special bond, he and I, though I suppose that comes with the territory. He is frustratingly in tune with my emotions. Which makes sense since he probably experienced the entire range of them while I was pregnant. He seems to just know when I need a hug, a kiss, a smile, to laugh at one of his silly jokes. But at the same time he senses when my moods turn dark, when the dark, deep, suffocating blanket of depression is thrown over me and he never knows just how to react. He clings to me, more than he usually does. He remains, as long as he can, only a few feet from me, never letting me out of his sight.

And even this - even in seeing the maturity in my almost 3-year-old, his complex emotional responses, the depth of his pure, innocent love, I still feel like I'm only playing house. I still feel like I'm not fit to do this, like I'm just barely doing the job I should be doing. I still feel like there's someone who is 'bigger' and more suited to take my place.

Mornings really are for coffee and contemplation. My head is full, my cup is empty.