I have Sad News...Wonder Woman Died and Left ME to Replace Her

I have a news flash. It's rather tragic. Especially if you're married to me.

Wonder Woman died and left ME to replace her.

Tears.

At first, I was just as shocked as you are. But it's getting easier, because when I totally suck at something, when I give up opportunities, when I try to be good-looking, a good mom, wife, entrepreneur, and employee, I tell myself over and over, "She's dead. Wonder Woman is dead. Get over it."

But in my high expectations of myself, and in my disappointing efforts to be perfectly imperfect, I have to remind myself that being Wonder Woman is not all it's cracked up to be.

First of all, she is there for EVERYONE, stranger or friend. What a co dependant moron.

Second, she saves EVERYONE from having to deal with natural consequences. How enabling!

Third, to have her body, she has to starve herself and undergo plastic surgery on a regular basis. Do I detect a distorted self image?

And last but not least, she flies around in underwear and a corset all day. Non-stop. Isn't that indecent exposure? Well...maybe not. These days, it's a toss-up.

So in the end, it's totally dysfunctional to even TRY to be Wonder Woman, but still, I have to clarify how her death has affected me.

Letting go of Wonder Woman isn't just letting go of a superhero in underwear with cleavage; it's also letting go of a persona that so many of us take on in the beginning of marriage.

And then later, we are utterly shocked when she dies and we have to bury her! This happens because one day, in frustration, or in self-confidence, we take off the Wonder Woman outfit and walk to the mail box, bra-less and in sweats, and we don't care anymore.

Then, we throw dirt on her coffin when our kids go to Wal-Mart looking homeless.

We bury her 6 feet deeper when we realize that we never married Superman! And we are happy we didn't, because we learn that in reality, all of our spouse's imperfections almost justify our own!

Ladies, myself included, we are not Wonder Woman, no matter how hard we try. And we were probably disappointed when we realized that our spouse was not Superman. However, the faster we let that go, the happier we will be.

So today, I am grateful for the death of Wonder Woman, and the birth of a really great, imperfect, normal woman.

Which brings me to another thought. Why don't they have a super hero named "Normal Woman?"

Oh that's right, 'cause Wonder Woman would always try to save her from being normal.

And that's a shame.

Love is all you need... Well...that and a small dose of Prozac

Okay, ladies, I didn't get hit by a bus... I just hit a wall. But now I've peeled myself off the wall, and I'm back with all the obnoxiousness as before, and maybe even more. And I am simply...unapologetic. I have written other things, which are saved in my computer. But this thought came to me today, in a moment, and I decided to share it with you...enjoy!

When all of us got married, we danced under the expectation that we would somehow be the same the rest of our lives. Sure, we would get old, but no one told you that you might also get...CRAZY.

"Whatever! I'm not crazy!" you say.

And I say, "Just wait. It will happen. Some sooner than others, but it will happen!"

Evil laugh.

So, when did I turn crazy? Well, it was a process really. I think it started when my hubby and I went through our first real trial...one week into our marriage.

Then eight months later, I found out I was pregnant with our first daughter. This is usually a time when a family is thrilled about the upcoming birth of a child, but I was slowly falling off my rocker.

Weird stuff was happening to me, like I would shake when I talked about emotional issues.

What's up with that?

At first I thought I was a walking freak show.

It went something like this:

I would be crying to my hubby about my day, saying stuff like, "... and then, it really hurt my feelings that so and so was so disrespect--holy cow! Look at my hand! It's shaking! Wow. Weird. I should get that checked out!"

But I didn't. I was too busy living a selfish life and driving to taco bell.

Then after my third child, I realized something; I was certifiably nuts. I didn't want to get out of bed. Everything made me cry. I wasn't excited about life. My children were proof that hours upon hours of television can't ruin your kids (especially when it's PBS, but that's another blog).

I would often forget things, important things, like my kids' names. That's when I knew things were not good.

When I called the pediatrician (I should have been calling for me) the receptionist asked, "What's your child's name?"

"Ummmm... I don't know, just a second."

"O...kay?...."

I'm sure she wanted to hang up! She probably thought I was a crazy person who was going to show up there with a stuffed monkey I referred to as, "My Child." (I may have, too, if I hadn't gotten help.)

But I get help. Did I have to wait for it to get that bad, forgetting my children's names, and talking to stuffed monkeys? No. But I am prideful and egotistical. It takes a lot for me to realize I'm a nut case.

So I went to the doctor. I cried the whole time. He wrote on his note pad.

The results?

I was crazy!

My thyroid was out of control. It causes fatigue, memory loss, and the crazies! And worst of all--anxiety--hence the shaking hands.

It was all coming together now.

I started medication for anxiety and for my thyroid. My ego was broken. I wasn't perfect. Still adorable, but not perfect.

One week after getting help, my husband came home from work. I was happy. I was myself. I was in the kitchen making dinner, and he came in and said the funniest words.

"Honey, I thought having all those kids ruined you. I can't believe it! You're that happy girl I married!"

My response has become my motto:

"Honey, don't you know? All you need is love! That...and a small dose of Prozac!"

So I leave you with that. If you have emotional struggles and feel incomplete, just know, it's bound to happen to everyone at some point. Bottom line, you're still amazing, great, and wonderful...and a little crazy.

Welcome to the club.