Papaya Mom

I’m really way too good at regrets, in fact, I have to stop myself from obsessing on them.

I regret my selfish behavior at my father’s funeral, as in sucking up all the attention and being generally narsassitic.

I regret being a mean big sister to my sweet and only brother (as a kid).

I regret not updating Papaya’s website in two months.

I regret most (read: all but one) of my pre-marriage sexual partners. Not because they were bad, but I wish I could have come into this marriage with a clean slate, and not because my husband did (he did not). I’ve been dwelling on this one lately. I wonder what I would say to myself all those years ago to turn it around? Don’t sleep with them! Like that would work on a horny teenager. How about; this guy is ten years older than you and in no way has your best interests in mind? Would I have taken the time to consider what my best interests were? I was invincible, and no man would bring me down! Oh but they did, each chipping away at my self esteem. Even the one I don’t regret, my first “love”, in the way that my teenaged self understood it all. But after we broke up he admitted he had never loved me, because he had not yet learned how to love himself. I should have called him on bullshit, because more than the “friends with benefits” or even that older redhead devil, those words cut deep. When I did fall in love again, as an adult, with the man I would marry, it was hard to forget my first. Not because I wanted him back or wanted the childlike drama we created for lack of our own relationship skills, but because how would I know if my new love would mean it when he said he loved me. I don’t remember getting over it, it must have just been time. But damn, I sure regret the time I spent being hurt by someone who was as confused about relationships (at least the healthy kind) as I was.

I regret allowing McDonald’s items to cross Papaya’s perfect lips.

I regret not taking better newborn portraits of her.

I regret every moment I’ve been frustrated by her, or made her cry by refusing to watch “Nemo”, only because I feel guilt at allowing her to have ever begun watching TV at all.

But here is the thing, when I push my regrets out of my mind, resolved or not, I am a happier person. I’m a fun wife and great mother, so my desire is to focus on that.

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