Rain

When I was a child, a teenager, even a few years ago, I loved being caught in the rain. Sometimes I would even go outside for the soul purpose of standing in it.
It made me feel close to something. A Greater Being, the Universe, the rain itself. It exhilarated me, made me feel free and solid.
The other day, it was raining. It has been raining for the past three days.
"You know," I said to my husband, "I used to love to run around in the rain".
"Why don't you anymore?" he asked.
Hm. Why don't I anymore?
The answer is simple:
It's not freeing anymore. It's worrisome. Before, I only had to worry about myself. Myself getting soaking wet, feeling cold wind, possibly getting sick. But, guess what? Now I have a baby and having her experiencing those same things does not sound like any kind of fun for anybody. And most of the time, it's just me and her. I can't leave her in the house while I dance in the rain like a loony. And even if I could, say if I left her with my husband, do I really have time to deal with sopping wet clothes and hair when there is her bath to think about, the dishes, nursing? I barely have time to fit in everything I have to do as it is!
I have no time for rain dancing!
Sigh
A friend of mine sent me a message once, saying that she had realized that she had become a full on mom and had forgotten her self. Her self who was a person, not just a mom and wife.
It has happened to me now.
Not that I mind. I love it. If I had to choose, if someone said,
"You can never dance in the rain again if you choose to live for the rest of your life with someone you love and who loves you back and you get to raise cool kids together," I would say,
"OK, no problem".
But, when my husband asked me that question, I felt like a mule. Like before I had been a dolphin swimming and now I was molasses.
You know what though?
Think of it this way. I am 26 years old. Even if I have more kids, some day, they will all be able to take care of themselves. And we will be alone. And we will miss our children.
I will be able to take a solitary walk in the rain again, but I will never be able to hold my daughter at ten months old again.
Squeeze her to my chest. Feel her wispy hair on my cheek. She will grow and it will be forever.
Even though, sometimes I feel buried.
But I am doing it to my self. The same stuff I am burying myself in is really there to be reveled in.
And so I will. Revel.
The rain will be waiting.