WARNING!!! This Blog May Also Be Used To Treat Other Conditions As Determined By Your Doctor

It is amazing to me that society holds “Journaling” so dear to its heart. I have recently been sucked into the weekly ritual of watching Grey’s Anatomy (Those of you who are guilty of this perpetration of brain washing know who you are and have been forced to fish and play video games already heehee). Now in this show they show in season one a “journal” of video surgeries, and in season five, they show a box full of actual “journals” from before one of the characters parents lost their mind to Alzheimer’s.

It’s been shown in books and movies “The Notebook” and “Reign Of Fire”. So “Journaling” is used for everything from serious to action to comedy.

Now, as you loyal patrons of my ramblings know, Doc P is my shrink, and she says to me, “maybe we should try journaling” I looked at her and said, “What do you mean we? You mean I should try journaling right? I mean really you are not going to journal your life and share with me, you want me to write and give my daily life to you spilled out on paper, hell I might as well write an autobiography and try to sell it and make money on it then.” The looks I get from her from time to time are priceless; I wish I could tape them and post them here for you all to see.

Thus, I informed Doc P, I have been blogging, and that should suffice just fine for my Journaling for now. She agreed, and so I being the ranting and rambling of another blog…Therapeutically of course…

So…to continue my thoughts (and my Journaling heehee)… I wonder if SHE needs therapy after her visits with me. I mean after all, I did make my forth grade and seventh grade teachers cry. I mean my seventh grade teacher switched to teaching first grade after one year in seventh teaching my class (hell there was only 17 of us) I wonder if they needed therapy (maybe they just talked to the Priests, I don’t know).

Any way back to the good Doc P, I like her more and more though, however I wonder if I don’t verbally assault her a little because I am testing her, testing the water to see what she can handle.

We all test people from time to time. Even those we try not to test, our most precious loved ones, and sometimes we test them the most. E tells me that sometimes, that I test her, push her to see how far I can push. Another self defense mechanism, another way to keep people at an arms distance, never let anyone in too close, keep the masses out of my world.

And then, there was E. And then there was Max. You know, I never went near kids before, they scared me, I finally figured it out, they could see me, my vulnerabilities, see right through me.

I remember sitting with E, her telling me she wanted to introduce me to her best friend. Allyson, she is married to a nice guy (it took me months to remember their names), and they have a son about six months old named Max. My neck bristled, (I knew she spent Thursdays there, every week, they are great friends) I broke into a cold sweat, and re-enforced the “I really don’t like kids Erika” statement I had made when we had first started dating.

There was something about that kid. I have talked to my shrink about it (hence the journaling came up cause I could not put it in words) and I still can’t put my finger on it. I feel bad now; thinking back on the first time Allyson met me. She must have been terrified thinking of Erika being with someone who flat out told her when they first met that she “really, I don’t like children and they don’t like me”. Poor Allyson must have felt almost sick to her stomach. But she was cheerful and sweet, talkative and kind.

The first time I saw Max, we were all having coffee, he was in his stroller, I don’t know, I looked at him, he was cute, and I knew he saw right into me the way kids do, you know? The way they can look into your soul, we as adults lose that as we grow up. It is the thing that makes us figure out there is no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny. The thing that makes us leery of every person who walks down the street, and makes us fearful in our own homes on a stormy night. That thing that makes it so if we don’t see the world it cant see us, or our huddling under a blanket with a friend will keep us safe from the boogeyman. In all the children I have met in my life, I never felt the calm I felt when that little man looked into my eyes and saw me. Normally, it freaks me out, but not that time. And to this date he never has.

Max has never once said my name. He does not call me on the phone. When I walk in the room, he does not turn and say hello. He does not voice to me in the way adults do. However, he never forgets me. He may not be able to say my name, but when I walk into the house, he genuinely hugs me, and smiles, and laughs. An adult will be so focused on your name you will get a half smile, a limp handshake, and a how are you, and they will never get your name. But this little boy remembers.

I think the best way to tell what I am talking about is when I went to Houston for work. I was going for a year. I was very upset, I had been spending a lot of time with Max, I remember having quite a few conversations with E about my concerns about if he would remember me when I got a chance to come back and visit him. Despite her attempts to calm me about this, and tell me that he would remember me playing on the floor with him, reading to him, hugging him before bed, etc, I was still upset and agitated by the whole thing.

I went to Texas in the beginning of June. I called home every day, saw E on web cam, called when she was with Max, had her give him hugs from me, and tell him I loved him every chance she got.

The first chance I got I hopped a plane to Kentucky for a long weekend; I made sure it was for Max’s Birthday. There was no way I was missing his first birthday. I did not care if I had to walk from Texas to Kentucky; I was going to be there to see him turn 1. I was going to be there for cake, and presents, and everything in between.
While I was gone, I started not feeling well (loyal readers you know all about so we wont delve into that here and now) so I could not get on the floor and play with Max when I saw him. But I held him and hugged him, and everyone was talking, “see he remembers you, we told you he would” I was not convinced, and then, the miracles of all miracles.

I was sitting at the dinning table looking into the kitchen talking to Max’s mommy and E, he crawled right over in front of me; me sitting in that chair towering over him; him with his happy smiles and giggles, he looked right up at me, took his little hand, and patted the floor three times. He looked at me, the look in his eyes saying “why aren’t you down here where you are supposed to be playing with me?”

I don’t cry.

I want to make that very clear, (Doc P is trying to change this, my emotions are a little too in check I guess, LOL) but that, in that moment, I welled up. Not only did he remember me, he remembered how we played, and wanted me to play with him. Never was I a more proud Auntie than in that moment. And yes, I am Max’s Aunt. Maybe not by blood, but then there are some things that are stronger.

Journaling? I don’t Journal. I Blog. And yeah, Doc P can read it if she wants, and she probably will, since I told her Journaling wont work, but I will blog for hours, LOL. It suits my “addictive personality” as E and I describe it.

So there you go Doc, what I could not get into with you in session. What really chokes me up? What really makes me smile?

And now? Would Allyson worry about Max and me? Naw.

In Fact, babysat for him, I see him every week, help get him ready for bed, play with him on the floor when I can, and when his baby Sister or Brother is born…I am going to be right there…Still Blogging.

Angie