Priority Faultlines That Cause the Earthquakes of Life

Think back to when you were younger. What did you want to be? Why did you want to be that particular thing? Did you succeed in your goals or did you change your mind? What made you change your mind?

When I was 13, I wanted to be a mortician. Yep, I wanted to drain the blood from dead people and fill them with embalming fluid then fix them up and make them look pretty for their funerals. This was my long term goal that started way back in 6th grade (thanks to my school career day sending me to work with a funeral home director since I was out sick on the day that we picked our careers). It makes perfect sense since I was an odd little kid. I was the one that dug up my hamsters and gold fish months after they died just so I could see what they looked like. I used to sit awake and night and wait for a vampire to come and bite me because I thought it would be romantic (and this was before the Twilight wimps showed up and made people think that vampires were sweet. I was waiting on one of the Lost Boys to tap on my window). Yeah, I was "that kid."

So the other day, imagine my surprise when I found myself texting the Mama to share my happiness at the fact that my constipated 6 month-old baby FINALLY pooped. It made me do a double take at my life and the twisting, rocky road that got me to this point.

I had Evel when I was a senior in high school. All plans that I had of attending the Pittsburgh Institute of Mortuary Science ended with that last push that brought a screaming, pooping child that resembled Elmer Fudd into my life. My world and my priorities shifted in an instant to accommodate the new responsibility that I had created. I am still thankful for parents that helped me to support my son and gave me the opportunity to finish high school and go to tech school (even though tech school did little more than give me a 4.0 GPA to put on my resume).

I didn't have the whole college experience of joining a sorority or making the Dean's list. But I did have the experience of molding and shaping this little life so that my son could become a sarcastic, smart-ass fine, upstanding citizen. If I would have gone to college, I would have had a job that paid well. But having my son made me rich in other ways. I learned patience and how to care about someone other than myself. I learned what unconditional love is. And I also learned that when a child is being loud and obnoxious, all is well. It's when they get quiet that you should worry.

So this pointed me in the direction of working full time to support my son since D-Bag Baby Daddy wasn't in the picture. I continued this way, perfectly content in our happy life until the next (and biggest) earthquake hit my life on Mother's Day of 2007 when one of my best friends died unexpectedly.

This damned near shook the core of me to the breaking point. After he died, the recovery was like learning to breathe again. It hurt. A lot. It still does. I stumbled, I fell and I really thought about not getting back up more than once. I look back and the only thing that kept me going was Evel. I coped enough to get myself through the day so that Evel didn't lose both parents. I know there were times that I failed him and those times are forever burned into my brain as a reminder that my children are my number one priority. I can't give up because it's not just me that will be losing out. I had lost sight of my priorities and I had to figure out how to get them back.

This is another reason that I am thankful for Big Daddy. He lost his best friend in roughly the same way that I lost my best friend. It finally felt like I found someone that knew what I was going through. After two years, it felt like I was finally done gasping for air. I didn't just lean on him...he practically had to drag me along until I could walk by myself. He picked me up and dusted me off more than his fair share of times until I could see clearly again.

So in the way that history repeats itself, I found myself getting ready to have another baby. I love Evel and Tink, but I didn't plan on having anymore kids. Evel was over halfway to being legally responsible for himself and Tink was finally able to independently do most things (even though she thoroughly still enjoys the damsel in distress role). This whole pregnancy thing had me walking on shaky ground again but Big Daddy was right there with me every step of the way and I slowly relaxed into the idea of being a parent again. The earthquake stopped and (with the exception of morning sickness and my achy "pushin' muscles" that made it almost impossible to walk) my priorities came back into focus. I was almost excited.

And then came Nutt. And with Nutt came Moebius Syndrome. And down came my world. Again. I had this little, tiny baby that screamed and pooped and looked like Popeye, with his one eye wide open and the other squeezed tightly shut. And there were neurologists and opthamologists and advocates from the March of Dimes and people throwing around the word "disability." And they were there because of my son. And they poked and prodded for answers but they gave us none. They gave us a diagnosis and they gave us a prognosis but they couldn't give us much else. I was terrified.

So again my priorities shifted from raising a baby to raising a baby with a disability. A baby that requires eye drops at least once and hour. A baby that could not nurse properly because he couldn't form a seal with his mouth because the right side of his face didn't move. A baby that had to have his formula switched 5 times before he quick throwing up everything he ate. And a baby that would not, could not poop.

This brought me to the text that I sent my mom. "Yay! Nutt FINALLY pooped!" Four little words that still make me smile because it shows me how far I have come as a person. From weird kid, to angry teen, to super mom, to workaholic, to depressed drunk, to the good wife, to a stay-at-home mom that would brave an earthquake to do what she feels is best for her kids.

And now, a soon to be Adult Student. I will be applying on Monday to the local community college so that I can finally return to school to get a degree and actually have a career that will help to support my family. Sure, it's not mortuary school, but returning to school is something that I've always wanted to do. At least with nursing, if someone pisses me off, I'll have the satisfaction of giving them a shot in the ass cheek. And I will also be around doctors that I can question and probe about Moebius Syndrome until they tell me to get out of their faces. Everything seems like it has finally come full circle. I go from having a child and missing out on school to having a child and finally figuring out what I want to do with my life because of the missing answers that I got when that child was born. PEDS, here I come!

I guess good things do come to those who wait.