By Heather O.
Ah, the immortal words of Patrick Swayze, burned into the heart of all us who came of age in the 80’s.
(If you don’t know what I’m talking about, seriously, you might be too young to read this blog. Go rent “Dirty Dancing”, you know, THE ORIGINAL one, watch it, and revel in the 80sness of it. Then we’ll talk.)
My only issue with that line is that nobody told me how applicable it would be to motherhood.
Because y’all, I have to say, I am seriously missing my own dance space.
J and I did a dance this morning around 5am I affectionally call “The Push ‘N Kick”, or “The Kick ‘N Push”, whichever way you want to look at it. I truly had a dream that a train was crashing into my back, with excrutiating pain. I awoke to discover my dear offspring’s two feet digging into my lumbar region. Dh had apparantly long ago abandoned ship, whether to the couch or to said offspring’s bed, I knew not.
I pushed the child back over to his side, and fell asleep again, only to be reawakened by the same sensation. You know, the pleasant excrutiating pain I mentioned earlier. I pushed again. He kicked again. Push ‘n Kick, Kick ‘n Push. I’m shocked this dance hasn’t hit “Dancing with the Stars”.
When the light of this long morning dawned, Dh came back into the room, and snuggled up close to me. Hello, have I not just described how I had to fend for my own space for the last 2-3 hours? I could hardly stand any more closeness.
“Hey, don’t you remember?” I mumbled to him. “This is my dance space, this is your dance space….”
At which point my son, WHOM I LOVE SO MUCH, crawled even closer to my body, a feat I thought nearly impossible, and said, “Look, Mommy! I’m in your dance space!” and he and the other most important man in my life started giggling hysterically, crushing me between them in the process.
At that point, all you can do is look upwards to the ceiling, sigh, and think, “Where the hell is Patrick Swayze when I need him?”
With the help of my only other female ally in the family, aka Maggie the dog, I kicked both of the male monkeys out of my bed, and roared that they were no longer allowed in my dance space. And then I rented “North and South” to watch completely by myself, not only because it’s about the Civil War, but because it features hours and hours of Patrick Swayze. Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
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