Perception

I can't find my sunglasses. It's not like it matters anyway, because I made a big scratch in them. But now I have about 4 pairs of sunglasses that all have scratches on them. So instead, I busted out a freebie pair I picked up at a party last year... and let me tell you... they're special.

Picture white Fay-Ban sunglasses. {I'm not as cool as my friend Alli who is also 4.5 years younger than me who calls her own sunglasses FBs. I even urban dictionaried-- clearly a verb-- it to find out they are, indeed, fake Ray Ban sunglasses which have apparently made a comeback}.

Exhibit A.

I had to go to the County Clerk's office today to pick up B's birth certificate because I forgot to mail in the form nearly 5 months ago when he was born because I was a little busy or something. And also, I had no rush to get things moving since the document would still be there, 12 miles away, as long as I waited. Maybe there was Andrew guilt in there, too, because I don't have any documentation that he ever existed according to the state of Illinois. Maybe I can get that, but I honestly still have too many emotions about that. Except now we decided to get B a passport for some upcoming travel (more on that later) and the procrastination had to stop. Let's also not discuss how I nearly broke down right there reading at the top, "certificate of live birth", because I'd never seen that for my own child typed on a piece of paper with my own two eyes before.

Also, perhaps the cutest thing you've ever seen is a baby's passport photo.

Exhibit B.

We had him in a collared onesie to show his sophistication, but he naturally pooped through that before we arrived at the drug store for the photo opp. Random white thing in his mouth = glare. You try getting a baby to close his mouth for a photo!

I'm getting away from myself here. As I walked into the County Clerk's office, I wanted to appear respectable to have a baby in my possession. And when you're asking for documents such as birth certificates, you sort of feel like you should present yourself respectfully. So here I was, walking in with my white Fay-Bans on and totally, utterly embarrassed. I was convinced people thought I...

A. Was 18 years old

B. Had just stolen this child

C. Had Illegitimately acquired the child and was totally white trash/uneducated. 

As Ray and I entered the Post Office together later to submit the passport paperwork, I was telling him that people were giving me weird looks and I was convinced these stupid glasses were making people judge me inappropriately. He said I was being too self conscious. I assure you, if I saw a lady with white Fay-Bans with a baby, I would totally think less of her and drop her down at least one college degree. At least. Shame on me, maybe. But I speak the truth. Someone has to. And for the record, I'm one of the least self conscious people around-- I truly don't care what people think of me most of the time. But when it comes to being a mom, I'm quite protective of that title. I've mentioned that a time or two before.

I took the glasses off before we got into the Post Office. Oh, and in case you're wondering, both parents must be present in case the other happens to be trying something sneaky and abducting the kid or something.  We were happy to be inconvenienced by this requirement. Because, the horror.

It got me thinking further about this whole perception business. I stood putting the groceries into my trunk this afternoon with B's carseat in the cart {not resting on top, ever} and wondered if there were other BLMs out there getting out of their cars or purchasing their produce that were burdened by seeing my seemingly perfect life. She's young and has a baby and is buying groceries and looks relatively in shape and is wearing stupid Fay-Bans that make her look 18. Wow, I wish I had that life. The life of happy.

The truth is, it is happy. Most of the time. But there's definitely so much emotional baggage and sadness still that it's not perfect and I'm not just living the perfect little life with my perfect little husband and child and delicious produce and driving my perfect little Honda around. I envied these women I saw every single day from the day Andrew died until the day B arrived and I still envy them in so many ways. I envy their emotional stability and full hearts that will never be missing a piece.

It's just plain interesting how much we can assume about others without knowing their story. I try to remind myself of this, but even I get caught up in the battle of perception. Maybe this post was all over the map, but it's something that's definitely been looming around in my brain these days.