About 8 years ago, I had a diary here that I wrote in pretty much daily. I wrote funny anecdotes about my day, about my past, about my drinking shenanigans and my friends, about my hopes and my fears and my expectations of a grown-up life.

If I could go back in time and speak to that person, "polishstreak" she called herself, that young 20-something, that girl-woman, I would tell her to chill the fuck out. I would tell her to enjoy her young body, her late nights, her endless happy hours and boundless free time and the freedom that comes only when you're young and not tied down by a family, a post-baby fatness, and all the medical shit that sneaks up on you in your 30s.

I would tell her that even when life turns out how you wanted it, you'll always find something new to want and there will always be days when you feel like other people are angry monkeys throwing their balls of feces at you.

I would tell her that there will come a day when you'll go out and drink only half as much as you used to, and you will feel the hangover, the wretched barfiness of vengeance from an angry god for the next 2 days as your punishment for trying to be young again.

I would tell her that she chose the right man to love and to marry. I would tell her that he is still an incredibly good person with a great sense of humor and who would become a wonderful father. And I would warn her that despite that, and despite that overall, her marriage would be a happy one, that there would be days here and there when her hormones were in overdrive and her toddler was in demon-mode, that she could think of nothing more satisfying than taking an electric cattle prod to that man's nuts after he walked in the door from work and observes, "The dishes didn't get done today, huh?"

I would tell her that her dream of becoming a mother, after miscarriages and infertility issues, would eventually come to fruition, and she would, indeed get the opportunity to fall in love with a beautiful son. I would tell her that there would be days when her heart would burst with pride over his smallest accomplishments-- sitting up, walking, feeding himself. And then I would tell her that there would also be days when she realized she'd been wearing a t-shirt with vomit caked to its sleeve for 2 days in a row because that beautiful son had a very strong gag reflex and didn't like the taste of peas-- oh, and she hasn't showered in 4 days, so why would she have thought to change her shirt? There will be days where your sweet son will cuddle up with you and stroke your face lovingly with his hands and you will melt with the overwhelming love you have for this little person. And then there will be days when he hits you in the face with the dog's rawhide bone, giving you a black eye and breaking your glasses.

Ultimately, I would tell her that her quest for a happy ending was ridiculous, that the happiness is in the moments and there would be tons of them, but sometimes you have to force yourself to find them and smile in between the vomit, the poo, and the urges to castrate your husband.

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- - 2010-07-03
At least he smelled good! - 2010-06-30
Screw Detroit - 2010-06-28
Visiting the Parental Units - 2010-06-14
Polishstreak2 talks to young Polishstreak - 2010-06-12