Friday, April 11, 2008

Bubbles Up

It's clear that Addie and I have at least this in common:  we don't like being told no. 

I've been pretty excited to head down to Florida for a weekend with  my good friend Toni.  In fact, I was hanging just about everything on that trip.  I can get through one more hideous meeting at work, because I get to have a weekend in Florida in May, I'd say to myself.  I can deal with Addie having one more tantrum because of the peas in her bowl is a little mushy!  Just hold on, Jen, and clean the poo streak off this toilet just one more time.  Because pretty soon you'll be sitting by a pool, drinking some sweet alcoholic beverage, dozing off when you like.  In Florida.

Course, then, I made the mistake of consulting Eric one last time about whether or not I should go.  Honestly, I pretty much considered this a formality.  Wasn't it obvious that I needed this trip?  Deserved it?  He wouldn't deny me that, would he?

Turns out Eric's had just about enough of me gallavanting off on trips for work, and isn't overly excited about being by himself for another weekend with the girls, and oh, by the way, we have a whole bunch of other things regarding our relationship that we haven't really been addressing and that are now bubbling to the surface. 

So, no trip to Florida.

So, now I'm on the floor having the tantrum.

Actually, that was Tuesday.  Today I'm better about the whole thing.  I'm still a little embarrassed by the fact that I had to tell Toni that (once again) I couldn't do the trip with her.  I'm still disappointed in that raw, mean, poor-kid-in-the-candy-store kind of way.  But I get it.

I get that I can't do everything.

I get that I can't have a clean house, an active social life, a full career, a happy family, and maintain my sanity. 

I get that I can't expect Eric to just be the babysitter.  There's got to be more for him in this relationship, too.

I get that this is not just about me not getting to go on the trip.  It's about me saying yes to too much.  It's about me being afraid of what my life might be or look like if it's not cram-packed.  It's about coming to terms with my anxiety in the quieter moments. 

I get that the vacation might not have "fixed" the stress anyway.  That there's bigger fish to fry here, and I can't ignore them too much longer.

I still feel a little pissed, wronged in some way, I guess.  But I get it.

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