It’s dark in the room, except for the glow of the computer screen, and I can hear the clock tocking on the wall (it doesn’t tick, just tocks for some reason). There are presents to be wrapped, dishes to be washed, laundry to be folded and put away, but I feel like sleeping, sitting here, pondering my existence and my purpose in life. My sister is struggling with the big “why?” question of life. I wish I had an answer for her, but I think it’s a question everyone has to find the answer to on their own.
Oprah radio the other day: “Everyone has a grand purpose. What is yours? What do you have to give to the world? To others? What were you meant to do? Who are you meant to be? How will you get to where you need to be or become who you are meant to be?”
My first thought was that I was meant to be a teacher. However, the more I teach, the more I realize that it’s the nurturing of the growth of my students (both educationally and as human beings) that I enjoy most. I’m meant to be a mom: master of chaos and emergencies, impeccable organization, cleaning, and cooking skills, loving, overbearing leader, educated in a random assortment of useful things, giving of all my self, energy, and soul to those I love, responsible and mature yet crazy and outgoing. If I am not a mother, I don’t have a clue as to what else I’m supposed to be.
I love being a wife. I have never experienced a love so playful and pure as the love I share with my husband. When he kisses me, my insides melt and rush heat all over my body. Everyone told us that the first year of marriage is the most difficult; yet, we barely noticed it fly by as we had adventures and snuggled in to the life we love and cherish together. When I see him smile, all I can picture is how the light from his eyes might be reflected in our little boy’s someday. How our baby’s eyes might crinkle on the sides just like his do. Will he have his skinny toes or my stubby ones? Brown eyes or hazel? I lightly rest my hand on my stomach and wish that I could start that journey now rather than in seven months, but I know that in that time I’ll flip flop back and forth between forcing myself to focus on appreciating this time now and wasting it anticipating something that we’re not ready for just yet.
For some reason, I am more tired today than I was during my entire trip to NYC. On the trip, I got an average of 4 hours of sleep a night and walked what felt like a million miles each day. At home, I get 6-8 hours and don’t traverse the city on foot; yet, I’m exhausted. I have been thanking my lucky stars that I have been able to keep up with grading and have not had a major pile of essays to grade, so that I can relax when I come home (if you can call laundry, dishes, and other chores relaxing…) but the essays shall be raining down upon me like fire and brimstone as of Sunday. I can’t wait to lose sleep over caring for my child rather than being exhausted because I endlessly pour myself into the education of kids who often could care less.