Bruised but not broken

Fair warning to you, if you're here thinking you are reading some lighthearted "Mommy" blog, you'd best move on now. This isn't a post about that. In fact it's probably one of those way too candid ramblings better left for diaries.

The woman formerly known as Rachelle wants, even if only for a moment, to be just Rachelle. You see, she has feelings. She has dreams. She has a life outside of motherhood.

But when the first blessing of a baby came, she gave a lot of that up to ensure her baby had the very best life (and her Mommy) could offer. Rachelle waited five long (and quite lonely) years before allowing herself to even consider finding someone for herself. It certainly hadn't worked out with baby's father, who without mentioning it moved on right around the time the doctors were saying "it's a girl... and new Mommy is fighting for her life" - or something like that, I imagine was said, because I was at that point pretty much in and out of consciousness.

Five years without making herself available to love someone again. Then she reestablished contact with a friend she'd known since middle school. They had movie nights over popcorn with baby girl snuggled up against them. They talked into the wee hours of the night after the credits rolled. And then, before they'd even said "Yeah, we're an item," baby girl was getting the sibling she'd prayed to God for. Seeking to avoid a repeat of the diaper dumping, she bluntly inquired if there was anyone else vying for Daddy-to-be's attention and if the baby was going to be a blessing between friends or the beginnings of a family.

Rachelle allowed herself to believe it was the latter, because he said it was so. And she let her baby girl grow close to a man who said he felt like "she was his daughter, too" even before sibling was born. Don't you just love sweet nothings? Nothing was all it was, because he never even said goodbye to the little girl who loved him, called him her Daddy, and loved that he was around all the time.

And Rachelle is now alone. Having discovered that, indeed her instincts about guarded cell phone texts and odd hours at the bachelor pad he was "locked into by a lease and should at least sleep in once in a while since I'm paying for it" were pretty solid evidence of a wanderer, she confronted Daddy of two -- correction: one, and instead of a 'you caught me and I'm terribly sorry,' got a "I'm filing for custody, not visitation." Since when does confronting a person's cheating (physical or emotional) merit a threat against children? Frankly, she should have known there was no compatibility when the man said he was wearing an ascot to his wedding and Rachelle was talking of linen suits, bright flowy dresses, and an outdoor oasis for hers.

And Rachelle is bruised. She finds herself the single mother of two beautiful blessings from God. And just when she thought she'd be something besides Mommy to someone for even just a little while, she's essentially told she's a damn good incubator.

Surprisingly, though she's about 28 hours away from turning 30 as just "Mommy" again, Rachelle is not broken. No marriage prospects, a justifiable darn-near "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" attitude, and a heart twice stomped on. And yet so very thankful.

I am Mommy Rachelle. I'm good at it. And perhaps those dreams I harbor for my life are not on hold, they're just evolving into something much more suited to who Rachelle is supposed to be...