Why having a child ruins everything

Yes, search I’m going to be talking about Twilight again.

Let’s get back to my ridiculously over active imagination for a moment shall we? I’ve always had a tendency to play out entire What-if scenarios in my head. When I was little I used to lay in bed waiting for my older brother and sister to come home from whatever late night activity they were participating in and the scene in my mind would always turn grisly. What-if they got into an accident – with each other – on the way home and died in a fiery and painful death? What would I do without them? I usually cried myself to sleep only to wake up and find two cranky, hemorrhoids sometimes hung-over siblings who weren’t nearly as excited to see me as I was to see them. It was always OMG you are still alive versus, somnology Oh great, Melanie is up early again!

The big one for the last five years has been the widow What-if scenario. What-if the Mister was killed and I had to live my life without him? This is a big one in my brain for some reason – I have many contingency plans, none of which I like at all – I’m not even going to go into it because it makes me depressed.

Or, What-if I was bitten by a vampire and turned into one myself? Look, I said over-active so just play along.

In a past life when I would become so immersed in a book I could let my imagination run wild. I remember reading Gone With the Wind for the first time in High School – and I mean that literally too, I spent all day reading it for a week instead of doing any work. (I went to one of those “learn at your own pace” schools where we didn’t have set classes – let’s just say that week I was learning about the Civil War as I hid myself in the back of the Religious Studies resource centre). Gone With the Wind had such an impression on my teenage mind that I could see myself as Scarlett O’Hara doing whatever it took to get Rhett Butler back. I was depressed for days when I finished that book. These days – my “I’ve been bitten by a Vampire” plan is a lot less exciting. I see myself finding a way to get my daughter to a safe home (Hi Sis) and then spending the rest of her life perched outside her window silently watching as she grows up without me. Exciting, no? There is no romantic I’m-going-to-live-forever-and-can-do-what-I-want-because-of-my-unbelievable-strength-and-beauty feeling about it (according to Twilight – obviously I am a “good” Vampire here). There is just me, alone, feasting on the cats pooping in my sister’s garden and the occasional raccoon as someone else gets to raise my daughter.

These days everything I see, touch and read is coloured by the Mommy-lens. I’ve long since thought that Scarlett O’Hara needed a good punch in the face but I can’t look at anything without thinking about how it would effect the mind of my little girl. So thanks a lot Moira for ruining everything! Now come over here and give me one of your giant, slobbery, open-mouth kisses and all will be forgiven.

Post navigation

  2 Replies to “Why having a child ruins everything”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.