I told everyone I left M. because he forced the whole baby-hetero thing on me. He told everyone it was because I was cold and hated families, and couldn't stand that he didn't. The truth, of course, is somewhere in between.
My brother in law was in a car accident yesterday. He was riding his bike to work. He's alright, after a minor surgery on his leg today. My sister, of course, went to stay with him in the hospital, and left Munchkin home with me.
At 9:30, he started to cry. By 10:30, he was kicking and screaming for mama. I tried to be calm and soothing, but the very sight of me made him angrier. Not only was I not his mama, I wasn't anyone's mama and it was ridiculous to try to pass as one.
I know, I know. He was scared. Yada yada. I shouldn't blah blah myself so yada yada for gobble. But this is my irrational freakout, and we're playing by my rules.
The truth I mentioned? It's that he's right. I'm not. He knows, M. knows, and after a real mama got home I walked upstairs to a tiny bedroom alone and drafted this. (You think this is irrational? You should see the rough draft.) Everybody knows. I can't even cook.
I'm no one's mama, and chances are, I never will be. Even if I got my shit together long enough to properly want it, there's a significant chance my uterus is damaged and it won't happen. Little ones can smell it on me, I know it, and so can guys like M. and mothery-types like Sister. I once consoled myself with the fact that I do other things, but I've barely written a thing in a year. I'm just a waitress.
The only one who doesn't seem able to smell this on me is Coffeeboy. After getting myself sufficiently worked up last night, I went over to his house. I was still crying, and only realised that it was stupid when I couldn't explain to him why.
"They know! They look at me, and they just....know!"
And I couldn't answer. I'm still trying to find the words. They know that it's not only I don't want to, but also that I probably couldn't if I tried. And it's expected that I do.
To my surprise, Coffeeboy laughed. That's when I realised just how irrational I was being. He kissed the tears off my cheek and joked, "Well, if you cain't raise me no sons, I's leave'n you."
And then we went to sleep. Not in this house that always reminds me of what I'm not, but in his apartment that's even tinier, even draftier and in every way shittier....except for the fact that it houses five broke artists, and one waitress who finally feels like one there.