Existence is Bliss

I was in Target the other day when I was struck by the sensation similar to the one you might get when you have a cold - I wasn't all there. It was as if I was watching myself but not involved in what I was doing, and when my daughter asked if she could have a pair of Hello Kitty shoes, my answer felt like some one else's. I know what you're thinking, but no, I hadn't even had a Tylenol that day. I wondered why I was feeling so odd, but I only wondered for a second. The fact was, for days I hadn't spoken to a soul other than my children and my husband for a little while when he came home at night. One can only speak of WordGirl, Goldfish crackers and imaginary scenarios for so long before they just start to crack up. I am sorry to admit that many a day goes by when I do not change my shirt even though by noon it is spattered with all manner of baby excrements, because I know that I am not going anywhere anyway. Except maybe to Target, in which I see many mothers not unlike myself, and we smile wearily as we pass each other and regard our matching carts laden with diapers, tiny clothing, bread, fabric softener, and Hello Kitty shoes. I am beginning to recognize their vans when I pull into the Target parking lot. "Oh, dark blue Caravan with the flip-flop stickers on the back window is here again," I think, and it is some how comforting. The feeling of out-of-body-ness I get is due, I believe, to the sad truth that for some time, no one has known that I exist. In an attempt at self-actualization, I make plans to leave the house quite often, and I really do leave...about 20% of the time. My baby has timed her regularity such that right as we're leaving, after the other two girls have their shoes on, hair brushed, sweaters on and are standing by the door, she explodes through her diaper and two layers of clothing and all over the bouncer. I'm not kidding you, every time. And it always takes longer than I think it will to clean up a mess like that. So, many times I don't go. I say, "Forget it you guys! This is ridiculous!" and I put on WordGirl and remain anonymous. Other days, I go ahead and leave, even though it's now lunchtime. I pack everybody into the car and say, "Darnit, we're leaving! And you better believe we're going to have a good freakin' time!" (Okay, I don't actually say that.) I drive to the library, the park, anywhere there are moms and kids, and say something to somebody...and suddenly I am. And another person knew that I was. And who knows? Maybe I helped make them exist too.