Here’s how I explain my self-labeled talker status. Yes, I see your child doing the pee-pee dance, tugging on your shirt sleeve while you desperately try to wrap this up. Yes I see you with your head down working diligently on something that I know needs to be done by noon today. Yes I see that you have lost all interest in this conversation because it has gone on for far too long. Yes I see all of these things. Here’s the problem: I can’t help myself. I just cannot make my face-hole utter the final word and just let you be. I cannot stop myself from telling just one more story about one of my children, or about the time I got a brain tumor, or about the time I planted a single flower in my backyard and absolutely nothing remarkable happened. I just have to tell you.
Part of the problem is that I spend so much of my time with my children that I actually start to crave adult interaction. I need to be able to have a conversation with more depth than that which can be derived from the endless words that can be combined to describe one single Pokemon. I need to speak in a voice that is not used to ground a child, or discipline a child, or to make my point that I am annoyed with a child who should stop now, or else. I have this voice that I rarely hear because it is not my Mommy Voice, it is my Oh-Look-I-Am-An-Adult-Who-Can-Have-Intelligent-Conversations Voice. I really like that voice. To me it sounds like music, sweet and beautiful, and oh-so-rare.
So, imagine my surprise when I recently discovered that there exists in the world at least one person who intimidates me, makes me feel nervous, and with whom I am practically incapable of using any voice whatsoever. I am pretty sure that the single longest conversation I have ever had with this person involved a pleasant greeting followed by my brilliant and inspiring response of exhaling whilst attempting some sort of vowel sound at the same time. Impressive, Nikki. Very impressive. I have, of course, talked about this with a couple of my closest friends and the consensus would be that I am the victim of …..wait for it ……. A crush. On a man. It appears that I have, in all of my awkward, adolescent-like glory, a freaking crush on a man.
Crap.
Having been unfazed by the opposite sex since the demise of my last relationship, I find this startling and confusing. What sort of magical power must said man have to make me turn into some version of myself that I have not seen since high school? As a woman who has worked very hard to learn how to control my own emotions, how on earth is this even possible? How can I be at the mercy of involuntary feelings and reactions to another human being? Oh, wait, could it be that it is because I am a human being: and one whose heart is finally softening, if only a little? Maybe. Or maybe he just has a magical power. I do not yet know the true answer, but I do know that I find a mixed bag of emotions when I think about this situation.
I find it fun to “like” someone again. I find it confusing that it is even happening. I find it annoying that I cannot use my voice. I even find it a little pathetic, to be honest. But, I also find joy in the fact that I have come so very far since the darker days in my life. And I hope to find that in the end all of these emotions will have been for some greater purpose in my life. Time will tell.
But in the meantime, if you happen to find me making barely audible vowel sounds in the presence of another person, you may have stumbled upon the magic. Feel free to sit back and enjoy the show.