My “Middle Place” feels like the Grand Canyon
The Middle Place: “that sliver of time when parenthood and childhood overlap” -Kelly Corrigan.
Last night I dreamt that I was just as pregnant as I am now (about 7.5 months) and having contractions. In my dream this didn’t worry me one bit. I called my mom and told her we needed to go shopping, because I didn’t have diapers or anything and the baby would come soon. She drove over and very nonchalantly asked me where I wanted to go shopping. We chatted for a bit and the rest of the dream consisted of us menially choosing baby stuff while I stopped every 5 minutes or so to breathe through a contraction.
I woke up feeling quite normal and thinking that maybe I should prepare a bit for this baby. This will be my 3rd girl and I haven’t bought anything, so maybe getting some things will calm whatever subconscious anxiety I am carrying. I’ll start with a box of newborn diapers.
Then, as I had coffee, I started thinking about the beauty of the dream, about those little things I really miss. The ability to call my parents and say things like: “I need to go shopping.” Not that my mom would be able to hop on a plane and be by my side to take me on a shopping spree, but it helped to have that person to express all these little things to. Of course, if I called my mom and said: ‘the baby is coming early’ she would hop on the first available flight and be by my side, ready to help me with whatever I needed, but that’s not what this is about.
I have friends and a wonderful husband, but there is no one to whom I will ever be as relevant as I was to my parents. To them, the mere act of hearing my voice over the phone was a joy, and they wanted to listen no matter what I had to say. If I talked to my dad and told him about my car making a funny noise he would want to hear all about it, even though he couldn’t solve anything for me. Even though he knew my husband would certainly take care of it. He just wanted to listen, because I was there, willing to take the time to talk to him. I could call my mom and gripe about the simplest things and hang up feeling that my unexciting life really mattered, at least to her…
I listen to audiobooks during my work-commute, and I just recently started The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan. A couple of minutes into my drive, it reads:
“[The Middle Place is about] calling home. Instinctively. Even when all the paperwork—a marriage license, a notarized deed, two birth certificates, and seven years of tax returns—clearly indicates you’re an adult, but all the same, there you are, clutching the phone and thanking God that you’re still somebody’s daughter.”
And that is the one thing I am not prepared to let go of… I still want to (badly) be somebody’s daughter.
Laura
loving and letting go 