Friday, October 22, 2010

An Inconvenient Truth

Something I have noticed since becoming pregnant- besides the fact that people now stare at my belly constantly, which makes me highly uncomfortable as I've always been very weight conscious, especially about said area; besides the fact that some people take it a step further and reach out to touch my belly; besides the one teacher who talks directly to my belly every time she passes, but hasn't actually said hello to me in weeks ("HELLO!  My eyes are up here!" I feel like yelling at her).  Besides these things, which were really to be expected, the biggest change in my life is that suddenly, people don't seem to be able to talk to me about anything but being pregnant!

Growing this little alien in my tummy has not stopped me from being able to have interesting conversation.  I am acutely aware for 90% of the day that I am pregnant (that 10% happens at those intervals between peeing known as sleep).  I think about it constantly.  I surf websites and message boards, I look at nurseries and bedding, I poke my tummy when she's kicking and when she's not.  So when I'm around other people, I want to talk about anything but being pregnant.  People seem to doubt that I can do this, however.

The other night at a school party, friends came to me, asked how I was, told me a story about their friend or relative who was pregnant... and then we stared at each other until they walked away.  These are people I used to discuss celebrity gossip, world events, changes in education, or the latest episode of Glee with.  I can still have those conversations!  I still read Perez Hilton every couple of days and check as much as I used to.  Dave and I watch the news every morning before coming to school.  And I try to keep up with Glee.

The funniest thing about this to me is that I know I have done the exact same thing to my friends when they were pregnant.  I assumed they wanted to talk about being pregnant.  Looking back, they probably didn't.  At least not all the time.  Because the inconvenient truth is this: it's not that interesting.  Don't get me wrong- it's unbelievably amazing to feel this little girl kicking and punching and to know that I'll be meeting her, holding her, loving her (more) in four short months.  But right now, truthfully, all I can say about being pregnant is, "Yes, I'm lucky I haven't been sick/felt bad," and "She's kicking and punching," and "No, I'm still sleeping fine/nothing hurts."  Oh and "I know I'm supposed to get fat, but I don't like it."  And that's all.

So ask me what I think about Lindsey staying in rehab instead of going to jail or Obama making an "It Gets Better" video.  Or even about the typhoon headed for China.

Ask me anything that doesn't revolve around pregnancy.  Just maybe not while I'm surfing my baby websites.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Secret Language

I don't remember having a secret language with my sister.  I don't think we liked each other enough to do something that fun when we were little.  I did have a summer of secret codes with Shannon.  During the summers, both of us stayed home alone, but weren't allowed to leave our house without military cover and a police escort... at least that's how it felt.  I could RUN to get the mail when it came, but other than than, I was on lock-down.  Every now and again, Shannon and I could persuade our parents to let us go to each others house- but I'm telling you, it was like planning some sort of invasion.  We had to call each other and plan it, then each call our mothers, then our mothers had to call each other, then we had to wait for them to call us back (in my case, I had to wait for the secret telephone ring to then call my mother back), then we knew we had exactly five minutes to get from one house to the other, then we had to call our mothers when we got to the other house.  It was almost too much of a hassle to go!

So one summer, we decided that we would write secret notes to each other and leave them under the rock at the end of the street.  We would both be very naughty and run and leave each other notes.  That process went like this:
Ring, ring (if Shannon called me, I waited for the answering machine to pick up so I knew it was her and not a child-killer who somehow knew I was home alone)
K: I'm going to leave you a note.
S: Okay.
Two minutes later- ring ring
K: I left you a note.
S: Okay.  I'm going to get it.
Two minutes later- ring ring (answering machine)S: I got your note.  I'll call you back when I figure it out.
K: Okay.
Two minutes later- ring ring (answering machine)S: Haha- that's funny!
K: I know!  You go leave me one.
S: Okay.

Etc., etc.  Much simpler, huh?

Why, you may be asking yourself, are you telling me this?  Well, yesterday... every day really, I am surrounded by kids who know a "secret" language.  It's Spanish, so it's not really a secret- I think it's well documented that many, many people speak Spanish.  I just do not happen to be one of them.  It got me thinking, walking behind some kids and trying to figure out what they were saying- how crazy!  To be 13 and to be able to say just about anything you want in front of a teacher with no fear of repercussion!  They could be talking about sex, drugs, rock and roll... I had no idea!  What freedom and power!  I'm not sure it's a freedom or power that a 13 year old should have.  But most of these guys have had this their whole lives- teachers who did speak Spanish, teachers who didn't.  They know how to censor.  They also know when you start learning... and they can tell when you're faking.

The only secret language I ever knew was pig latin.  I should probably learn Spanish.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Confronting your demons

Confrontation is not my strong point.  I am, like many people I know, really good at telling the story of what I should've said or what I might say, but rarely did I or do I say it.  At least not to the face of the person who needs to hear it.  All my life, I have had this fear of being wrong and I think that, more than anything, plays into my fear of confrontation.  I also have always seemed to understand that there are two sides to every situation and I'm always worried that my side is not really what happened.  I can't stand the thought of having an arguement with someone, only to find out that what I think happened didn't happen at all.  I don't know why.  There's nothing I can pin point from childhood- no friend or relative who did this constantly and helped instill this fear.  And yet it's there.

But sometimes- and only sometimes- I know I am right.  There is no guilt, no worry about seeing the situation from someone else's point of view because I feel good about what I'm doing in that situation.  I am in that situation right now.  I have decided to end a friendship, based on the actions of the other person.  It is true- I can see it from their side- why they felt slighted or jipped or even deserving.  But nothing- NOTHING- can explain away their behavior to me.  We are adults and while I know that emotions can run high, especially where money is concerned, there is a right way and a wrong way to handle things.

And the wrong way could lose you friends.

Even in that second-guessing stage- the one after the fight or disagreement where you look back and question if you did or said the right thing or even if your response is the right one... even in that stage, I know I have made the correct decision.  It will not be easy.  I will run into this person at parties and gatherings.  People, at some point, will forget about the situation (or will never even know about it) and wonder why we don't hang out anymore or why I'm not coming to a small gathering when this person is around.  I may actually become so detatched myself that I will go to those gatherings and could even have pleasant conversations with this person again.  And if it comes down to to a confrontation, I feel like I could calmly explain my side and my reasoning with no fear of the other point of view (that's not to say the other person would behave the same- in fact, I could almost be certain that they would not).  But I'm not worried about it.  Because in this situation, it's not the side that matters.  I do truly understand why you feel the way you do.  What I do not understand is how you could think the way you did about us and then react the way you did.  And that is where my side comes in.  So tell my husband that you know how upset I am and you want to make it right.  Tell him that you never meant for it to happen like this.  Convince yourself that you are the bigger person.  The truth is- you're not.  If you were, none of this would've happened in the first place.

So we will not be friends again.  And there is not a fiber in my being that questions that decision.  Not one.  Not one regret, not one 'what-if'.  Because I have seen the true colors and I don't like them.

That is all.  Good day.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The value of friendship...

Every once in a while, I have one of those days.  You know- the kind where "nobody likes me, everybody hates me" runs through your head all day.  The kind that leaves you feeling sad and lonely and wondering what you did to bring this on because really, you're a nice person.  You're a funny person.  You're kind of cute, if you do say so yourself.  And yet, on those days, you don't particularly feel that way.  It seems like everyone else did something last night and apparently, you weren't invited.  It seems like everyone is doing something tonight, and you weren't invited to that, either.  You try to remind yourself that you probably wouldn't have gone anyway and, if the truth be told, you were in bed at 9:00pm.  Happily.

But still, there are those days.  I hate those days.  I feel too grown up for those days.  I try to focus on all the good things that are in my life and the fact that I actually enjoy hanging out at my house, watching movies with my husband and throwing the ball (incessantly) for Pip.  I don't feel bad at the end of the night when it's time to climb into bed- I don't regret anything.

It's the next morning, when I see the pictures on facebook or hear everyone talking about how much fun they had that I wonder, "Hey, why wasn't I invited?"

I'm married to a wonderful man who always answers that question with, "Who cares?"  And it forces me, after a bit of whining, to admit that I had a nice evening doing whatever it was I was doing.  That is one of the many reasons I love him.

On those days, however, the grass is always greener.  At home, in my lovely peach state, I have four best friends.  And on those poor-poor-pitiful-me days, I know in my heart of hearts that if I was home, I would be hanging out with one of them, drinking wine or playing with someone's dog or kid, or making dinner.  Or just watching TV at their house.  I can picture it clearly- the smile on my face, the comfort in being with any one of those people and the feelings of love and acceptance, knowing that these people are my friends.  And they are good people.

The problem is, that's not really what happens.  There were plenty of days in the summer that I was home alone.  My dad and husband would go play poker somewhere and I would be in my pj's curled on the couch, just hanging out.  They, these four best friends, have lives and jobs and most of them don't actually live near me.  So getting together with those wonderful people does not happen as frequently as I know it would, on these worm-eating days of mine.

But I like to pretend that it does.

Today is not really one of those days.  I've got a party to go to tonight and some plans in the works for tomorrow and that makes me happy.  I know there will be other days where I feel left out and lonely, but when those days come, I will hug my husband, throw the ball for my dog and remind myself that I really do like my life.

And I won't eat any worms.