Is this my happily ever after? As a child, I dreamed of a fairy tale. I would grow up and become this beautiful princess, and my prince (tall, dark, and handsome, of course) would rescue me. We would live this dream and would never have a nightmarish moment. We would be the couple that other couples envy. They would look at me and think, She is a lucky woman. The prince would send me flowers for no reason; he would have home cooked meals every night for dinner. The dog would never poo on the floor ... the baby wouldn’t either. We would live in the big castle on a hill. On the weekends, we would go to church and take the babies to the park. I would magically get pregnant as soon as we said, ”let’s have another baby.” We would be Mr. and Mrs. Charming, as in, Prince Charming. This was my childhood dream.
My reality ended up a bit different ...
My knight in shining amour turned out to be a loser in aluminum foil. He was not tall, dark, and handsome—more short, fat, and balding (think Danny Devito, not Brad Pitt). Basically, the flowers never came, and the home cooked meals turned out to be Hamburger Helper and frozen corn. The dog did poo on the floor and the baby did, too! The castle came with a hefty mortgage and my horse drawn carriage wound up being a minivan. Come Sunday morning all I could think about was sleeping in, not going to church. Getting pregnant was stressful and involved doctors and needles. Mr. Charming decided to test out the water in the moat at another castle. And after eleven years together, eight and a half of them being married, I finally realized the “fairy tale” was going to have a little different ending.
The question remained—would I be able to deal with it?
The answer: yes. The life I am leading is not my childhood fairy tale. It is my adulthood reality. I live in a older, very non-castle-like house, meals consist of whatever is quick and cheap, the two children I have will probably be the only two I will ever have, and I am definitely not the envy of anyone. But I am at peace. I buy myself flowers for no reason and bought my version of a horse drawn carriage, a Mustang. (Hey, it involves horses!) The new Prince Charming is a five-year-old, redheaded little boy who calls me mommy. And I have passed my crown down to a beautiful little princess who has my eyes and her dad’s hair (what he has left of it). She wears the crown way better than I ever have. I have concluded that I will never be a fairy tale princess ... but I am the Queen of My Castle, as simple as it may be.
So watch out, Cinderella—here I come!
