Requiem for my Vaseline.

a mother's bedstand anecdote.

On my bedstand sits a small jar of Vaseline. From 1995. It’s near its end, and I am crushed.

I purchased it in preparation for my baby. I was doing everything right back then. Following the books, the lists of “shoulds”, and glowing up.

Gotta say, I was good at it too! LOVED being pregnant. I was a glorious sneetch belly. LOVED my voluptuous self. When my 9.3 lb. boy showed up, I was good at that too. Took him everywhere with me. Easy peasy. Funny enough, never really needed the vaseline! But it stayed with me. It’s almost as if it is a relic of a time when I felt so on par with my life. How I saw it going. My plans still were in play, and life had not yet derailed me. Been plenty of that since!

And so it has sat. On my trusty bedstand. At night I dip in for a little lip protection. Or as my husband asks every single time, “are you greasin’ up?” It’s become a nightly giggle. Replacing, I suppose, the nod to motherhood that it has represented over the years.

So what is this sadness? This melancholy as it is nearly empty?

I don’t want to let go of those sweet days of early motherhood. I still want them close to me. It’s as though I fear I will forget some of its more detailed moments. The minutia. It’s hanging on to a time I felt good at life. It’s like a grieving. And it’s a goddam tiny jar of vaseline. LOL

I bought a new jar of Vaseline. It sits next to the OG with it’s fresh print, mounds of jelly, a real braggart. I’m not sure what it says about me that I feel bad for the little jar. Is it actually self-pity? FML. Sometimes I need to just get over myself. I should toss the little thing. Put it out of its misery. (Or mine?) But I won’t. I know myself. I will keep the damn thing. I’m an emotional hoarder. I will repurpose it (you watch!). I will give it new life! (Is this me somehow trying to breath new life into my now deceased uterus?)

Flags are big these days. I’m going to let my freak flag fly on this one. As I am writing this, I’ve hatched a new plan for it. You shall see proof before I publish this piece.

I am now promising myself I will not forget who I was as a young mother. I will forever feel in my DNA the joy it brought me. The sense of self. A newfound strength. I built on that over the years.

What a cool thing it was becoming a Mom. I look forward to the day that I become a Grandma (no rush, son!). Can you guess what I will buy them when I hear the news? HA! I wonder if Vaseline is still on the list?

(SIDENOTE: I just went to Ebay and you wouldn’t believe all the vintage Vaseline!! I kid you not. Am I telling you this so you think me less crazy? SURE! Perhaps. All I know is this…people do things.

Imma need a few minutes to up-cycle my little jar of motherhood. I offer up these lyrics to set the tone for the reveal:

“People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one
And we've just begun
Think I'm gonna have a son
He will be like she and me, as free as a dove
Conceived in love
Sun is gonna shine above

And even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with you, honey
And everything will bring a chain of love, oh, oh, oh
In the mornin', when I rise
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright…” - Danny’s Song

And here it is:

Could jokes be made about how my mother jar is now home to a prickly succulent? Sure.

Go ahead.

Think what you will.

Of me, my jar, my process. I just had an emotional moment greasin’ my lips one last time before planting this. Would I have preferred a seedling? Yes. But alas, I am seedless. (I’ll pause to allow time for the metaphors to wash through your mind).

We done here? Yes. We are done here.

XOMO