Dear Pink Tornado-
Having a baby changes you.
Yes, that’s the understatement of the world. But it needs to be said. There are physical changes, sure. But there are things that go on within your brain chemisty too. Every mother-to-be will tell you about the fuzzy-headed pregnancy brain that distracts and confuses and has nothing to do with sleep deprivation (that’ll hit you in the first six months of the baby’s life). They’ll tell you about crying at sappy commercials – for me it was a Home Depot commercial about a dad making a treehouse for his son.
When I was a younger adult, I never cried. I was a crybaby as a kid, and trained myself out of it as I got older. I hated to cry. Before I had you, there were only two movies in the world that could make me cry: Some Kind of Wonderful and Scrooged. I went through some trying family times when I realized being the person who kept it together and didn’t cry or freak out was better for everyone involved, where there was a vacuum in the “strong person needed here” and so I filled it.
After I had you, I definitely felt like my body chemistry was messed up. I was honestly worried about myself – this was not a depression thing, just a different reaction to stimuli. I cry at the end of kid’s movies, for God’s sake. And it’s taken me nearly six years to thank you for it.
This feels corny, but let me explain. Today we’re on the eve of a historic moment. At the very base of it, we’re putting an African American man in the president’s chair tomorrow. On a hopes and dreams level, this will put an end to eight of the most detrimental, backsliding years of America’s history and make us a great country again. I don’t know if that will happen. When you finally read this, you’ll know better than I do.
But last Saturday, you and I were driving to the library. You to get new books and me to write. As I was driving, NPR was doing a story of a musician who had taken President Obama’s speech, Yes We Can, and put it to music. Something hit me then – something I had forgotten. That famous and amazing speech was delivered after Obama had lost the New Hampshire primary. This was not a victory, look how awesome I am speech. This was a we will fight, we will continue, because yes, we can win this.
And I started to cry.
You didn’t realize this. You were hanging out in the back seat reading. But you see, I had a bad week, kiddo. I had a week where I hit some career speed bumps, where your Momo’s dogs were sick and dying, and some heath stuff was bugging me. I hadn’t been standing up strongly, proclaiming Yes We Can, I had been wrapping myself in my bathrobe and feeling sorry for myself. And I realized that if I ever want to succeed in anything, I have to have that Yes We Can attitude. And it felt good to be moved by that story, moved by the music, and inspired to keep going. Cause if he could deliver that speech – and later win the presidency – after a major loss, I sure as hell could keep going after my (in relation) piddly issues.
So thank you, Pink Tornado. Thank you for giving me a greater emotional range to let me be moved in ways I never was before. Thanks for letting me become inspired in ways I never was before. Yeah, Obama and his writers wrote and delivered the speech, but you let it affect me. I know that five minutes ago I grumbled that if you don’t let me finish my work today, we will not get a chance to fill that zeppelin with helium, but I’m writing to let you know you are the greatest thing ever.
Love, with sniffles,
Mom
Category: Personal
The PT is a very lucky young lady.
Well, now I’m all sniffley too!
Very well-put and insightful. Thanks for sharing.
I’d heard that before you have kids, you have about ten emotional letters to play with, and after you have kids, you get the rest of the alphabet.
But I understand all too well the feeling that you can’t handle it, that you’ll never accomplish anything, that it’s all too much. I have that feeling all the time. It’s always easier for others to see your strength, your vision, your success, because they don’t have that voice in the back of their heads discounting everything you do. Their voice is too busy tearing themselves down. I have one. I think everyone does.
The thing we keep forgetting, the thing we need to remember, is that We Are Mighty (you especially). And tears aren’t a sign of weakness (thank you, Ming the Merciless), they’re a sign of tenderness, which is a strength in and of itself. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I tear up at the end of Cars. That, and “Zach, you’re a real sap, y’know that?”
Good stuff, Mur.
Mur,
Great letter. I know your letter is written from a Mom’s point of view but as a Dad the same changes occur. I can’t explain it other than the cliche that kids change your life. This piece affected me in ways that it would not have before my son.
Thanks for sharing your thought and reminding us all that when things are looking down that we need to stand up and and say “Yes, I can.”
Well.
That made me cry.
It also reminded me that I bought one of my favorite movies, “Some Kind of Wonderful,” more than three months ago because it was on sale for cheap and I still haven’t watched the DVD. Must fix.
Most importantly, your post reminded me once again that you’re the kind of parent I would have wanted to be, and that you are not just made of awesome, you produce it.
Speechless. Wow! *sniff*
Luckily, as a dad, I’m still a big tough GUY and don’t get emotional over things like that. Nope, not me, never, uh-uh. Well maybe once in a while, but I don’t CRY about it… it’s just allergies and stuff that make me sniffle.
I started to cry when I heard that very same story with Will.I.Am on NPR Saturday when I realized it was given when Obama lost in New Hampshire. I remember tearing up when he gave that speech that night. And now *you* made me cry again in your letter to the PT.
Amazing and beautiful things are here and happen every day, like the love a mother has for her daughter. Thanks for reminding me of this.
Wow. That was very moving. No tears here, but started getting all misty eyed.
I’m a single dad, working all day, housework and chores all evening, and freelance programming and blogging/podcasting at night. I know how tough it can be to keep going. Your letter to PT was just what I’ve needed lately, to help me find that Yes We Can attitude.
Truly, thank you for posting this, and the PT is very lucky to have you as her mom.