My one moment of desperation so far was on the second night after I found out. I cried so hard when we were in bed. Me, Jon, NJ – she sleeps with us. I know, I know: "You'll never get her out of your bed...You're really in for it now...Your marriage will suffer...She needs more independence..." I've heard it all, trust me. But, the truth is, I love that she snuggles with us in bed all night long. And, Jon does too. I don't think it will last forever. In fact, I know it won't. And, I'm going to savor it for all its worth. I burst into tears this particular night, humbled by the sweetness of it all. Our bedtime routine. Our happiness. The thought that it could possibly end was wrenching. I sobbed and professed all of my fears to Jon. It breaks my own heart to think of it now. Me, in a moment of sheer desperation. Clutching on to my sweet baby for dear life. I think she was laughing, smiling, giggling. I love that she can go on being happy no matter what. She's happy just that we're there, with her.
That night was a turning point for me. Jon confessed that he feared many of the same things, and that made me feel comforted.
I learned this simple lesson in a few short weeks: When you voice your fears, they dissipate.
Maybe I'd even heard this before, or been told that it was the answer, but didn't listen. Now it's so clear.
This morning I felt that fearlessness again. I was driving to work, listening to The Court Yard Hounds – The Dixie Chicks with no dixie, or, sans Natalie Maines – and was thinking about some things I wanted to write about today. Somehow I said to myself for the first time that I really am a writer, even a good writer, and that I'm not doubting myself anymore. It was like my chest swung open and angels flew in. I got goosebumps. I felt like a vice was lifted. Once and for all. A lifetime of hangups disappeared in an instant. Just like that.