May I Suggest…
First a disclaimer: This post may not contain my usual brand of spontaneity and comic wit. It may feel forced and disjointed. Or, it may feel like I am speaking through one of those boxes that is intended to alter a person’s voice when they want to remain anonymous during a television interview.
Why? Because the damn Internet failed just as I was finishing my original essay and all my work was erased. As I stomped and swore and threatened the cat, my husband calmly reminded me of his repeated suggestion that I write my posts in Word and then copy and paste them onto my site.
Yeah. Great idea. But, his logistical smugness only pushed me deeper into a pit of unhealthy rage. (Of which I have since recovered.) Realize that this post is only a facsimile of its true self. It is a compilation of little bits of initial thought that were able to be salvaged from the wreck of my memory. Unfortunately, attempts at recapturing ideas from ghost drafts are more than often futile. I am sorry, so sorry then, if I fail to amuse you.
(Speaking of the true self, has anyone checked out Eckhart Tolle? Out of nowhere [okay, maybe it had a little something to do with his stint on Oprah] it seems that Tolle’s work and my life keep colliding. So, I finally started listening to A New Earth. Man, is Tolle some deep, deep stuff. And, for better or worse, I am totally digging it.)
Now, on to my reconstructed post:
You may have noticed, as of late, that my Muse has gone packing. I must admit, that I am little sour about it. Especially, since I’m guessing that that slut is probably in Las Vegas throwing her money away on the nickel slot machines. Or, off trying her evil hand at Black Jack in Atlantic City.
Honestly, I’m a little concerned about her health and reputation.
Still, I can forgive her this one extravagant holiday as I have possibly been too busy to consult with her anyhow. (If you see her, please don’t tell her I said that. Politely compliment her on her outfit and hair cut and then try to persuade her to come home.)
Still, I am not too fretful. Muse’s earned vacation time is almost spent and I’m confident that I’ll be back in the saddle by Monday. (I am not yet blaming her absence on my medication. Not yet. No, we certainly won’t go there.)
In the meantime, before I embarrass myself running half-naked down the street screaming “Muse! Muse! Come back! Come Baaaack!” in the same irritating voice that the stranded, mashed-potato-eating little brother uses in A Christmas Story, I am compelled to offer up a suggestion to all of those couples struggling to redefine their postpartum relationship:
Get away for 24 hours without the baby and be ridiculously irresponsible.
No, I don’t mean go out on a 24 hour bender spending the last of your savings on a half shipment of cocaine. No, no. I just mean get out and live a little. We did and Man! are we better for it.
Yes, thanks to my incredible, intelligent and good-looking parents (I hope you’re reading because I’m buttering you up for another overnight), Paul and I were set free. Freeeeeeeeee!
These wonderful, incomparable, as-close-to-perfection-as-two-people-can-get-without actually-being-the-Messiah parents made a pit stop on their vacation to entertain our lovely, lovely loud, crawling, climbing, squealing, energetic, creative, potty-mouthed, temperamental 9-month-old son for an entire 1,465 minutes (no I wasn’t counting) while Paul and I stumbled down vaguely familiar Charlestonian streets in a happily intoxicated tizzy.
Ah! The old life. It’s still there just waiting in the shadows. Go ahead. Invite him over. He’s feeling awfully lonely standing under the lamppost all by himself, planning deliciously debaucherous schemes, that will most likely never come to fruition. Leave him alone too long and he’ll go sniffing after that wild Muse of mine. And when that happens, they may never come back.
Don’t let Mr. Stale come for dinner and ruin your life.
Just because you are a mother doesn’t mean that your inner wild child has shriveled up and kicked the bucket.
Oh no. You are just as wild and crazy as ever. Maybe even more so…
So, do as I do and not as I say especially when going over our monthly bills or trying to get Silas to take a nap or folding an ugly, ugly forsaken pile of laundry.
Go off with your hubbie. Stretch your meek finances to the limit buying items (so, we needed some duds for dinner!) and gourmet entrees (did I mention the foie gras?!?) and bottle of champagne that really POPS! when you send the cork flying across the dimly lit parking lot. Go off. Get wild. Take 24 hours and call me in the morning.
Trust me. Just do it!
We did.
(No pun intended.)
July 21st, 2008 at 2:23 pm
It sounds as though your Muse is already headed home. I’ve missed her, too.
Very glad that you got a night out. It does wonders for parenthood!
July 21st, 2008 at 10:06 pm
i am not going directly to bed as i really would like to. i’m going to invite your muse over, but i swear there will be no heavy petting.