I've come a bit un-moored from my identity. This is totally expected. Parenthood is not one of those things that you pick up as a hobby and put down a few months later unchanged except for a new party trick. I didn't think it would be. And yet somehow I expected to retain more of myself than I have. I expected to be, or at least want to be, a "cool
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And hey, it's a less harmful form of crazy than the old one?
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The urge has gone away following this post and a conversation with my husband. I was interpreting the dream wrong: Ellen was, of course, me, suddenly coming in second--with MYSELF--to Oscar; and the reason I wanted to have another child so badly was that childbirth was the last time I was truly the center of attention. And I did a nearly perfect job of it. Of course I want to do it again!
But now that I know that's what I want? OK, I can cope. Ghost dispensed with.
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