Sweet Pea: "What's a scar?"
Me: A scar is where you were hurt once, had a boo-boo, and the boo-boo got better and left a mark. Like this one on my tummy from when Buddy was born. (Buddy's incision was done in a "North-South" direction due to possible complications with the pregnancy and delivery)
Sweet Pea: "How did the doctors get Buddy out of your tummy?"
Me: Well, they cut me and went in and took him out.
Sweet Pea: "Mommy! You had three babies in your tummy!"
Me: Yes, but not at the same time. You all took turns.
- - - - - - - - - - -
I've remembered something this week.
I remembered that I'm human. Very human.
Sometimes I'm strong, or kind, or compassionate. I was none of that this week, and I know I was not easy to live with. Not easy for my husband and not easy for my kids. By Thursday, I called my doctor and asked her what we could do to quickly exorcise the raving lunatic that had moved into my body.
I don't remember thinking much about depression before the kids were born. In the years since though, I've thought about it a lot, and dealt with it, too.
Having children changed my life in ways I never even thought about. I look at the lives of my sisters, both so very different from mine -- One tours with bands and performers, the other travels all around the world -- and there are times that I think "Wow, if only I could..." Here's the thing, though -- no matter how I sometimes strain against the chains of "responsibility" and rant about how I never get a moment's peace, I would be lost without the family Hubby and I created.
And usually, when I'm straining and ranting and raving the person, place or thing I really really really want to get away from the most is myself.