This summer has been largely about my kids. Allergies, behavior stuff, gymnastics, ballet, swim school, doctor’s appointments, more doctor’s appointments, worrying, sibling rivalry, and the classic WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ALL SUMMER WITH NO SCHOOL.
This week is about me. And today I decided not to filter myself about that. I decided that it’s okay to talk about going to New York City to hang out with my husband and also attend BlogHer 10, the ginormous conference of bloggy shenanigans. It’s okay to be excited, to have sometimes-violent butterflies in my stomach, to wonder what I’m wearing and who I’ll see there. It’s okay to tweet about it. It’s okay to think about it.
It’ll be my second year attending this particular conference. I feel only vaguely wiser, but this year I haven’t spent a reckless amount of time and money on shoes and a new bag and some dresses and a haircut. I did get a bikini wax but um, that was for uh, not BlogHer. I got a strapless bra ($10!!!) but didn’t buy any new clothes that I didn’t need. Unless you count the soft nightie I found yesterday at Marshalls which was also not for BlogHer. Heh. I’m gonna get my toenails done tomorrow because I want to.
I have two more nights to power through my anxieties. So far, I’ve been really proud of how well I’ve done. Before Mom 2.0 in February, I was having full-blown panic episodes each night. Now I’ve been fluttery and uncomfortable and a little breathless but I’ve gotten rest. (When I haven’t been woken up 2-4 times a night by my four-year-old.) And damn it, I will get “rest” tonight and tomorrow. I’ll actually pack.
I’ll do this.
I know that I will miss my kids and that I’ll have trouble saying goodbye to them on Wednesday. I’ve accepted that I might feel sick and nauseated when I’m there. I know that it isn’t just stress that sets me off, but excitement and adrenaline and I’m excited to see people and I get all wound up like a toddler when I’m talking to people I don’t talk to often and this is all a recipe for me feeling bad at some point.
That’s okay. It’s okay. It doesn’t make me sucky or weak it just is what it is and that’s what hot showers and quiet rooms and tearful calls to my mom and walks around the block and my flight home on Saturday are for.
I will try to make my hair look cute because I don’t get to hang out with adults and my self-esteem that often. I’ll put some makeup on. I’ll wear earrings and clothes that make me feel cute. I’ll be overwhelmed in big rooms full of people I admire and want to get to know. I’ll run out of energy by 11 pm. I won’t drink because I know it will make me sick. I’ll spend a lot of time managing my own needs and not anyone else’s.
I will hug everyone. Hard.
And I won’t be ashamed of that. When my weird overactive sense of guilt and shame creeps up I’ll find some place in my soul full of Jedi magic and mid-day sunshine and thunderstorms and big grins and loud music and I’ll stab that guilt right in its effing face because I deserve to have a good time, damn it.
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So, are you going? Will I see you there? Will you tap me on the shoulder and say hi so I can hug the shit out of you?
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