Today...We Cried

Tom dropped Olivia off at school this morning. I had to work. When I called him a little after I knew drop-off would take place he reported, “It’s a good thing you weren’t here. She cried. I had to hold her a little bit. But then her teacher offered her a second bracelet and off she went.”

My mom said that when she picked Olivia up, she was told that there were fewer tears today than there were yesterday. So that’s good. Olivia was working on her second serving of mashed potatoes when I talked to my mom this afternoon.

I think this is harder for me than it is for Olivia. Okay, she might disagree with that but I think the guilt is getting to me. The feeling that I could have somehow made this transition easier for her. If I’d put her in programs or something, anything, that gave her a little time away from me, my mom and Tom, this might not be so hard for her. She might not feel quite so abandoned.

And heck, I don’t even know that she does feel abandoned. After all, we’ve picked her up each day so far, which tells her that school isn’t a forever thing, it ends, she comes home, and we’re together again.

This guilt, this stress I’m feeling over Olivia heading off to preschool is so self-indulgent. I know that. I also know that I’m transferring these feelings into frustration and self-loathing about my weight-loss. Poor Tom is bearing the brunt of that frustration. Now that he’s reached is goal weight, he’s taken to working out even harder than ever because he wants to ‘shift things around.’ All I know is that he looks great.

And I’m mad that I don’t. Which is so stupid. His success does not negate my own success. Just because he got there first doesn’t mean I won’t get there.

But when he starts talking about the benefits of exercise and then giving me meaningful looks I just want to smack him. I know that exercise is beneficial. Duh! Of course it is. And someday, when I feel less gross even going outside, I might actually want to walk for exercise, or heck, even jog. But right now? I need to lose some of this weight with diet alone just so I’ll be comfortable going out and being seen exercising.

But then he gets started on the benefits of weight-bearing exercises. And how great it is at our age (he’s ten years older than I am, by the way) to build muscle to promote weight loss and health.

I finally snitted at him, “I do not want to lift weights. I am not going to lift weights. You can’t make me lift weights. I do not want to build muscle. I want to be thin. Leave me alone about freaking weights!”

He started to tell me that if I were to lift weights properly, I wouldn’t build bulk but I do the equivalent of putting my fingers in my ears and going, “Lalalalala, can’t hear you.”

See, way back in college, I worked out. I lifted weights. And I built muscle. A lot of muscle. It’s gross how big my arms are. And they’re not all fat. The friend I was working out with swore that the way we were exercising wasn’t going to build bulk. He was wrong. I haven’t worn a tank top since 1995 because that was when my arms bulked up. I hate, seriously, truly hate, my arms.

But this funk isn’t even about my stupid arms. And I know that. It’s just easy for me to slide into self-pity when I’m anxious, or worried. And I am. I worry about my Livie. I worry that her teachers won’t understand her, they won’t give her time to formulate her words, they won’t know to help her on the playground when she gets less confident. She CAN play on the playground but when she’s unsure of herself, she suddenly gets ‘scared.’

I know these teachers do this every year. They’re good at their jobs. Olivia is in good hands.

She just isn’t in my hands. And that’s what’s bothering me. I hope that by acknowledging it, I can work through it and get past this funk, this stupid, stupid bout of self-pity. I need to. The girls need me to be happy and totally there.

One positive thing: At the height of my funkiness yesterday, I tearfully asked Tom, “Is there anything at all that you think I do well?”

By this point he was exasperated with me. He responded, “Well, obviously, I know you’re a great mom. You do the mom thing very well. If you didn’t, the girls wouldn’t be so happy.”

That is, quite possibly, the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. I hold that close to my heart and know that in the end, he’s right. I must be doing something right.