Three A.M.

Three A.M. is supposed to be a time for peaceful slumber. At three in the morning, one is supposed to be off to never never land dreaming of wonderful things. I however, was not sleeping peacefully and dreaming of wonderful things at 3 a.m. this morning. I woke up for one reason or another, and my brain apparently thought, ‘hey, what better time to think about your formative years than right now’.  I adamantly declined, but my brain won. And for the next 45 minutes I was left thinking of the most random of memories, many pulled from the utmost recesses of my mind. 17 years of cobwebs have grown where these memories were pulled from. So, it made absolutely no sense…until it did.

I lay there thinking this is completely ridiculous; remembering first kisses – mine of which happened in our driveway with a wad of gum in my mouth – and the subsequent heartbreak that boy would later present to me by way of a break-up ‘note’ while he stood idly by waiting for my reaction. I couldn’t help but think about Lailah sleeping snug as a bug in the next room, and of the similar things that she will experience throughout her life. And how hard it will be to see her hurt, but how lovely it will be to see her triumph through such life lessons. I suppose that’s when it started to make a little bit of sense.

As I lay there I also wished I had really gave it to that ‘boy’. What I did was say, ‘ok’ while holding back the tears as I waited for my Mom to come and pick me up, what I SHOULD have done was pull the back of his shirt up over his head and kneed him in the nuts, while yelling at him to not be such a pansy ass and break up with me like a civilized human being. Maybe a bit on the dramatic side, but it definitely would have better indicated how I really felt. Hopefully I can instill within Lailah to speak to how her heart really feels. I feel like as human beings, the older we get the more reserved we are to telling people how we actually feel. When we are hurting, it seems we tell people that we are okay, when we are upset, it seems we have a hard time expressing what it is that is making us upset.

That boy wasn’t the only memory I had during those painfully long 45 or so minutes. But more than the memories was the thought of watching Lailah grow up to experience and live her own memories, whether they be good or sad. I hope I can be as great of a Mother to her, as my Mother was, and is, to me.

Lucky for me, I was able to fall asleep and get about a half hour of sleep before getting up for work. But my formative self has been silently following me around like a ghost throughout the day. To my formative self - it all turns out ok. Always stay true to yourself, never stop laughing, imagine, believe, dream, do.