Motherhood has been unraveling faster than I can hold on to.
Suddenly I have time for Yoga classes, pedicures and all the foreign movies I can watch. No one seems to care what's for dinner anymore. No one comes home for dinner anyway, unless it is by appointment and in between urgent text messages.
I should be happy with my newfound freedom. I should be reveling in long quiet evenings of literature and bubble baths. The tub of chocolate pudding is all mine now. I don't have to curse whoever put the empty milk carton back into the refrigerator. There's hardly a sock doughnut to be found under the living room couch.
I should be having dinner with friends and planning a return to graduate school or a trip to India or at least Seattle. I should hop into my Honda and spend the weekend in Austin with Annette. I should buy a better car, build a studio, drink wine with dinner, live a little.
Instead, I find myself going home to a string of frozen dinners and aimless chores. I used to be important in this house. I used to be Grand Command Central, Goddess of Family Dinners and Uber Organizer of All Things.
What happened?
Will someone ever need me again to soothe a fever in the middle of the night? Or will the future be all cash, tuition payments and a phone call on mother's day? Am I too old a mother-dog to learn a new trick? Can I truly reinvent myself as everybody expects me to, and pronto?
I have so much less energy than I had twenty years ago. No script.
What am I supposed to do of this big hereafter?