This blog is for Poppy, Popster, Popstar.
It feels like having tourettes. The feeling that at any given moment we want to blurt out something about cancer. My friend wants to tell folks in her office, at any given time, that her hair is short because of chemo. Some of us work in into conversations.
We aren't who we were, yet we aren't who we're going to be. The image of ourselves is shifting. Never staying in one place. We sometimes don't know what we want to be when we grow up anymore. Some of never really knew. Some of us did, but no longer want to be that.
When I go out now and I have my boobs on and my hair did, I look like every other or any other mom in my town. Driving a mini van with sweats on because I had to get up at 6 AM to work out because I have no time for myself during the day because I am taking my kids to soccer and gymnastics and playdates and the grocery store...
BITTER!!!!!!!!!!!!! Party of one, your table is now ready.
Anyhoo, I am no longer the bald freaky, eyebrowless lady at Target that gets sympathy stares.
You know what, I was a celebrity in my own right. The lady that has cancer with two small kids. The lady with a freezer full of frozen meals and people offering to babysit my kids.
Sometimes I am cancer victim, sometimes I am strong warrior, sometimes I am mom, sometimes I am partner, sometimes I am friend.
At the end of the day, I am still me, no matter how many times my shape has shifted.