I can't remember when exactly, but some time in the last 10 months or so, when I was crying my eyes out for one reason or another, I told Gary that I felt like I had lost my marbles. I like to be able to still laugh when I am a hot mess and so I found that any time after I would be very upset, I would remark that I lost my marbles and it made us smile. Gary always assured me that I did not lose my marbles, but there were times when I really questioned my sanity.
When we went to visit my college roommate this past Fall, we stopped by the Smithsonian to try to infuse some culture and history into our visit. On the way out, we stopped by the gift shop to buy a magnet for our fridge to commemorate the trip. Way in the back was a HUGE display of marbles. Alongside were little velvet pouches with the Smithsonian logo on them and they were designed for the patrons to pick the marbles they liked and take a small sampling of them home. Gary saw them right away and said we should get them. He was planning to get me some anyway. He said I should always have my very own marbles.
I have a little plate on my dresser with the word "HOPE" written all over it that my mom gave me several years ago. On it used to rest a candle...now it holds my marbles. They are never far away.
So why write about this now? Well, I lost my marbles yesterday. It all started over the fact that I needed some new clothes for work. My company is a casual one and we all dress down, but for the days when I am training, I really need to step it up a notch. I worked really hard for this position and I am enjoying it so much and I want to make sure I do it right!
The problem is, I refuse to wear my maternity clothes and I am still too big for my pre-pregnancy clothes. So I have been wearing the same few outfits. A lot. Now I think I have a fairly good sense of style and I manage to mix and match so that no one really noticed and if they did, I am not sure anyone would care. But I am a girl who likes my things ( remember this post?) and it just stinks that I do not even have the desire to shop for myself anymore.
My mom called and offered to meet me and help me. I tried to explain that I did not want help - that shopping for me was not fun anymore. That my body is all stretched out and the exercising I have been doing has not caught up yet. But she persisted.
I hung up the phone and I started to cry. Then I started to cry harder. Soon I got to the "ugly cry". I was still in my nightie, mind you, pony tail piled high on my head, and old cardigan worn on top to keep me warm. What started out as tears over the body that I am embarrassed by, turned into tears that would not stop coming. Tears over what we lost and how much it hurts. Tears over the agony and the emptiness. Tears for the life I once had. The innocence of a newly married couple who got pregnant so easily and thought they had any control over what happened in life.
Gary stood there with me and held me and assured me and loved me, as he always does. He listened and he offered advice. I looked at him in his Tough Mudder t-shirt, covered with my tears and just sighed. And probably hiccuped. I think that's a given with a cry like that.
Slowly, I calmed down. I ate lunch. I took a shower. I prepared to meet up with my mom.
And that I did. And we shopped. And shopped. And shopped some more. I got some great stuff. Clothes I will be proud to wear. Pieces I will be happy to put on. This is my body and I am doing my best to take care of it. I might as well make it try to look nice in the process!
Then I went home. Put my new clothes away. Watched some TV with my husband. Life goes on. If we are lucky, life goes on.
As I slowly drifted to sleep last night, I looked over at my dresser and saw my marbles sitting right where I had left them. I guess I did not lose them after all.