My Other Life

I submitted some articles for publication and received a rejection in the form of a one-size-fits-all, thanks but no thanks. After some painful junior high flashbacks, I got to thinking about why this blow felt personal. If you are a mother, then you give 100% towards motherhood and whatever scraps are leftover get scavenged away towards finding yourself. This, I’ve discovered, is the only way to achieve any semblance of well-roundedness. I need something that is completely my own and while it’s just a piece—it helps me feel whole.

You think the character of ElastiGIRL, stretched in all directions, everything for everyone, while still being super was a coincidence. I don’t.

After my rejection, I reached out to some friends and said,

“This is my other life outside of my all-consuming-role as a mom and to be told it’s not enough hurts because I need this to survive the motherhood part—do you know what I mean?”

To which they responded, “I completely relate to that feeling.”

And there was my answer: I want these words on the page to be relatable. While specifics may be unique or the circumstances—I believe all of us speak the same language. And I need to feel our woven threads of commonality as mothers, like I need to feel my daughter’s head resting on my chest.

My husband’s company celebrated three generations of the family business with a retreat to Meadowood in Napa and during that time we played croquet with private lessons from their pro. I came up to an impossible shot where I had to jump someone’s ball in order to make it through the wicket. The pro came over to assist and said I could choose to move on, but he could guide me if I went for it. We were only away for less than 28-hours—it was the first time the baby took a bottle—ever. I had written six pages of single-spaced babysitting directions for my dad and stepmom and we were lucky enough to be standing where we were. When in Rome, my friends—of course I took the shot! I missed, just like with my submissions, but you better believe I will always take the shot. And I’d like to believe, I’m not alone.