My Pancakes…Myself

I decided to cook pancakes for Lucas the other morning.  I have never been a huge eater of pancakes, but I bought this organic pancake mix and making pancakes on a rainy day seemed like a very mothering thing to do.  I heated up the organic butter, I carefully cut up some organic strawberries and added them to the mix, and then I whisked in a cage free organic egg.   I felt like I was doing everything right…except I cooked up two pieces of flat turds.  I tried my best, but instead of fluffy pancakes I got, well let’s just say my pancakes didn’t look like the picture on the box.

I sighed and stared at my pancakes in half-hearted disbelief.  I realized that, like the pancakes, I too was feeling miserably flat (and I am not talking about my breasts after nursing and pumping).   My pancakes were a symbol of exactly how I have been feeling lately.  Flat, rough around the edges, and in desperate need of some sweetness..or syrup.  In a nutshell the cause for my depression is that my feelings got hurt recently and it has sent me for a big fat emotional loop.  I heard through the grapevine (which is always dangerous) that some people that I trusted and let into my life were saying some not very nice things about me or my family, including Lucas. 

I know gossip should always be taken with a grain of salt, is dangerous, and a black hole, but my feelings were hurt and I didn’t expect it to crush me like it did. I started to buy into the gossip.  What if “they” were right?  What if all I do is spin my wheels, what if no one takes me seriously, what if my baby is Baby Stewie from Family Guy, what if I am inappropriate on my website….what if what if what if.  Suddenly I couldn’t stop myself.  All the nasty and negative, from a lifetime of feeling like I am on the outside looking in came flooding back.  I played the tapes in my head, You know… “Meggan is different, Meggan needs to settle down, Meggans in over her head with Ettore and those boys, Meggan is only after the money, Meggan is not talented enough, Meggan has no business being here…she’s too young, old, tall, thin, fat, silly, serious, tired, spastic, tomboyish, girly, flirty, stand offish, scattered, pushy”…..it could go on forever, if I let it. I don’t want to let it. 

I have always wanted to not care what anyone says, but I do care.  Not caring is so much easier said than done.  I care a lot, about a lot of people, even people that hurt me; and I have hurt people.  I can be snarky, gossipy, and judgemental too. I try not to be, but as Ettore says, “sometimes Sweetheart, you are just mean,” at which point I throw my head back in loud evil laughter.  Side note:  Ettore might have a point.  With the exception of occasionally acting like Cruella Deville from 101 Dalmatians, I try to treat others as I would like to be treated.  So not being one who lives in a glass house all that is left to do is forgive the people that spoke ill of me.  They don’t know me and saying hurtful things back and gossiping back does no one any good.  Even when I want to double snap and kick some ass.  To move on, I need to forgive others and myself, and realize I am not for everyone, but I am doing the best I can.  Forgiveness for others, and myself, might not come immediately, and it doesn’t mean I will continue these friendships, but it will come and my pancakes and myself will be feeling fluffy again.  As far as my breasts, well that might be another story.

So, to heal my wounded and sensitive psyche, I took myself to Therapist Richard and for $125.00 he assured me not to change a thing about myself (my Mom says she has been doing that for free for years).  Also, despite the pancakes or me not being perfekt; Ettore, the boys, and I are just fine (and will continue to be).  They love me, and I love them with all of my inappropriate, spinning wheeled, in over my head, money grubbing, and imperfect heart.  As far as the pancakes,  Lucas ate them up.  At the end of the day that is all that really matters.  We love each other, do the best we can, and my child didn’t throw his food on the floor.

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