Pressure

Sometimes I feel pressure, God. Maybe it isn't meant to be that way, but it is nonetheless how I feel. It's like I'm in a pressure cooker. At those times I try to not think at all and just let whatever thoughts drift in and out.

And so Coleen came to mind earlier. She had a way of making a point and making you laugh at the same time. Oh, how I miss that! And that reminded me of the time she described to me what it was like to have children.

"They're like leeches," she said, with the straightest face you could imagine. I always thought she knew how naive I was and so she did that kind of thing for shock value. Truth be known, it worked better than she could have hoped for. I was mortified. And fully aware of that fact, she emphasized the statement with, "It's true!" I'd lie awake sometimes thinking about what she said and how she could say that stuff out loud and not worry about whether she could be committed or not.

And so after having proclaimed her kids leeches she went on to explain. "During pregnancy you're not really aware of how much pain and interference these little things are going to make in your life. The first pregnancy, that is. After that it's all a case of I should have known better."

I nodded (like I would have known never having had any). She continued, "But the very first time you become painfully aware of how much pain is involved is when you realize that you are trying to force something the size of a bowling ball out of an orifice that is the size of a golf ball. Dark thoughts embrace your every fiber in that moment of realization. And you can't wait to get even. The problem is... you never do."

"So then the sweet little darlings suckle at your breast for an eternity. But you have to believe that it will end one day. Your nipples crack and are in such pain that you are sure the only remedy is surgical removal. The meat cleaver in the kitchen becomes oddly the tool of choice as you ponder exactly how much pain that would be."

Needless to say, at this point I am questioning my friend's sanity. But it gets worse.

"The next thing you know, breast feeding is all done... Yippee, thank you, God! But are those critters done with their dependency on you? Oh NO! In reality it's only begun. It's not too bad until they get legs underneath themselves. You can pretty much contain them in a playpen or a crib. But once they're mobile, forget it. They're like rats on roller skates. How do you think they came up with that little term of endearment 'rug rats' anyway?"

She paused as if she were reliving a particular moment in time and at the same time things were beginning to have some clarity for me. I shuddered at the thought. Kids being leeches was making sense to me!? OMG, had I gone over the edge? But like three paragraphs back... the worst (best?) is yet to come.

"Somewhere around three or four you realize that they have attached themselves to you. No matter where you go, no matter how hard you try to hide, there they are... ON you. Leeches, I tell you. You wake up in the morning and in the night one (or all of them) have had a bad dream. There they are ON you. There's one on your shoulder, one in your back so you can't roll over, one at your front so you can't get up. It's a hostage situation for sure.

"When you are finally able to make it out of the bed and into the bathroom, there's a skirmish outside the door. Who knows what they are fighting about so early? Who cares? It's then that you realize you will never again get five minutes peace until... well... until... oh God.... NEVER! You feel yourself slipping away. But you muster every bit of energy you can, brush your teeth, drag a comb through your hair, and go down the stairs to make breakfast. As the coffee brews you find a renewed sense of gratitude as you realize it could be worse. You nearly cry to know you will never be able to personally thank the guy who invented school.

"As you watch them go out the door for school you make a silent wish... 'Please don't come back until you are 35.' It's then you know wishes like that don't come true. But you thank the Lord you have the whole day to yourself... as if! There's a price to be paid for those 'precious packages.' It's called housework, endless, perpetual housework. You get what you can done and hope for the best. It never happens."

I'm exhausted just listening to her, but she's just getting wound up it seems.

"They come flying through the door, literally, screaming for something to eat. Carnivorous little creeps. And then they take their place ON you once more. They all want your attention at once. Me first... that's all you hear. One is nearly as tall as you and is blaring in your ear. One on the left has me around the waist... Mom, Mom, Mom! The little one grabs for what he can and is wound around my leg."

She stands up to show me what she means. Her arms are flailing all around. Her face gets red and I think her blood pressure is a kabillion over whatever. And she says, "Just once... JUST ONCE, I'd like to take them like this.." And her hand goes up to her shoulder. She grabs some air and very briskly and forcefully throws it on the ground saying very loud and in a near tearful stage, 'JUST GET OFF ME!'"

"They're leeches I tell you. And they never leave. They will be with me to my dying day competing for attention and having to have a piece of me." And then she sat down exhausted from the pressure of it all. For once I didn't feel so bad about never having kids. I could count this as one of my blessings before I went to sleep tonight. And then her face softened to the Coleen I loved and adored for her strength and she said, "But you know, Sal, I wouldn't change a thing."

I've recounted that conversation dozens of times. It was probably the best and most honest description of having children I have ever heard. And I learned a lot that day. Pressure is different things to different people. What is a breeze for some may be a tightrope for others. My dilemma may just be your walk in the park.

Coleen's kids have had to let go... permanently. She died a few years ago so very young at 55. But her laughter and perspectives live on as long as I have anything to say about it. She lived and loved and laughed and cried. She did it all with a verve I could only hope for. She died very quickly and suddenly.... just like she lived. I don't think she had any regrets. What better way to live than that?

My pressures seem trivial now that I've had this memory. At the appointed hour it will be only me who dies. In the meantime, let me live... perhaps not as I should, maybe not even as I like. Just let me live my life to the fullest so that when that time comes, I will have no regrets. Thanks for the soul print, Coleen. Thanks for the pressure release, God.