Needs Improvement

I'm suddenly overcome with yearnings to be different. It's silly, because I'm finally in a place in my life where I have all the things I've been searching for, for pretty much my conscious life (or at least since my teens) - most importantly love, but also a home, a vocation, and promise for the future. Outside looking in, everything is rosy. If I wasn't me, I'd want to be me. Actually most of the time I still do. But over the weekend I was smitten with admiration for how sensible and strong and wise my mother is, how much I'd like to have the aura of warmth that she has, and to approach things with her grace. I feel flittery and nervous next to her, even when I try to be calm. I would like to glow through the rest of my pregnancy and make motherhood look easy and natural, be the kind of mother to my child that my mother is to me. But I worry that I just don't have it in me. And the fact that I'm worrying is probably proof that no, I don't, because it's exactly the kind of existentialist crisis that I specialized in growing up, and that my mother is too sensible to ever fall into.

Failing that kind of grace, I would at least like to be an interesting person, with a lot of ideas and things on my mind, and a variety of unusual hobbies like the friends we saw yesterday. This isn't new; I always feel, after spending time with them, that I should be more like them. They're musical and talented, support a bunch of social causes, have already traveled the world, and have a home full of fun things like Lego and children's books (although they don't have children). Everything in their home has a story, and most things were gifts from their wide and varied group of friends, from the Chinese instrument on the wall that was a wedding gift, to the salt shakers from a friend's Peace Corps stint in Peru, to the crayon drawings on the refrigerator from a nephew. I'll never have as many friends as they do. I even envy the quick, instinctive understanding of one another that they have - it is as far as I can tell a perfect relationship. Next to them I feel like the only interesting thing I've managed to do lately is get pregnant, and I feel terribly un-artistic.

Probably both the strength and the interestingness are things that can be achieved through practice, or at least improved. I will simply have to work on it.

Tears for Fears

Yesterday morning I went off to work in high spirits after a giddy tickle-fight with my husband, who is awesome. Over the course of the day, the spirits were progressively dampened, and I started panicking about not having found a doctor I like yet, whether it's really safe to give birth at the birth center like I was planning, whether we can afford this, being so tired all the time, the fact that I'm coming down with yet another cold, possibly not being able to find another job if I take maternity leave and don't come back to this one, how having a baby is going to eat into the time that I have with my husband, etc.

I want this child so much, and yet I still have flashes where I think I'm ruining my life/our lives. By the time my husband got home, I was curled up in bed crying. He didn't even have to ask many questions, just crawled into bed to hold me and said "Chances are, everything will turn out fine." It's amazing how much those few words helped. I could feel the weight lifting off me, and the tears dried right up.

One of Those Weird Conversations

I went into the video store and paused just long enough to drop my video in the slot on the counter - then because the guy was sitting right there, I said hi to him.

Me: Hey, how's it going?
Video Store Guy: Ah, it goes, I suppose.
Me: Well, I guess that's all you can ask for.
VSG: But is it? Sometimes I think one could ask for more. Like a pause button.
Me: Or rewind.
VSG: Rewind. Yes. Is that too much to ask?
Me: Why not ask for both? I mean, you're not going to get either.
VSG: Sometimes if you ask for too much, it won't happen. But if you're realistic in your requests, it could.
Me: Well, it depends on who you're asking.
VSG: I suppose different deities have different policies on these things.
Me: Yeah.
VSG: Asking for the optimal amount. That's what I try to do.
Me: Yes, well, good luck with that.
VSG: Thank you. Rewind and pause. It's not too much, is it?
Me: Let me know how it turns out.
VSG: Indeed I shall.

Unrequited Love

Last night I dreamed about my cockatiel, who died a few years ago. I feel like I'm never going to stop missing her. I often still think of her, and when I see other cockatiels in pet stores, I'm drawn to them right away. I still remember how powdery soft her feathers were when she would nestle up against my cheek, and how her crest would go up and down in wide-eyed amazement as she looked at stuff. She was funny and clumsy and adorable and totally focused on me - as soon as I came in the door, she'd start calling, this particular "where are you?" greeting call. When I answered it, she'd reply with another particular type of whistle, like "oh! there you are." Sometimes if I was just in another room of the house, she'd check on me with a "where are you" whistle and I'd whistle back, and she'd go, "oh! there you are." I don't think my family really got why I loved her so much because she wasn't friendly to them, even though she'd known them all since she was a baby. She would hiss at them, then go all soft and cuddly as soon as I approached her cage.

Thinking about her got me feeling guilty about my other parrot, who I still have - but he lives with my parents since he's pretty loud and we're in an apartment with thin walls. He's a little more friendly with my family, but he's still focused on me. When I come in, he's all eyes for me, dancing back and forth and squawking to get my attention, and the whole time I have him out on my shoulder, he's preening my hair and talking in my ear and making kissy noises. He is lovely. But it's so sad that he's like that with me, when I only see him maybe once every two weeks and only spend a short time with him. He's chosen me, and he's been with me all through my late childhood and adolescence and growing-up, but I can never love him back the way he loves me. He's had to watch me go off to college and then find my own mate - who he obviously feels jealous of - it drives him nuts to watch us kiss -, and pretty soon I'll have a baby who will take priority over him too. Loving anyone just opens you up to different kinds of sorrow.

Figuring Stuff Out

So yesterday's entry was kind of a downer, but I didn't mean it to be. I had a great time over the holidays, and got to spend time with all the people I love. I also had ten days off from work which was heavenly. I can't wait for maternity leave, which I envision as an extended vacation, blissful mornings in a rocking chair while my baby sleeps in my arms, trips to the park with the baby, time to read all the books I like, etc. (sleep deprivation? what's that?)

My dad and I have the same New Year's Resolution: to figure out what to do with the rest of our lives. I like my job all right, but I think it might be time for a change, so I'm looking at this as an opportunity to step back and reevaluate. I would love to come up with some kind of plan for making money that would allow me more free time during the day, the opportunity to set my own schedule, and less need to be political/confrontational with people. Some people might laugh that I even think my current job is at all confrontational, but to me it is. I also feel like I ought to be making more of a contribution to conservation - to what really matters. Meanwhile my dad also has to figure out, if he's not going to go back to work, then what he is going to do with his time. We're both too young to retire.

It's kind of silly because I feel like I don't have enough time to do all the interesting things I want to do, and there really need to be two of me if I'm going to have two full-time jobs, working and raising a child - but he doesn't have enough to do, and needs to find a purpose to fill the time. The obvious solution, to have him live with us and help out with the baby, makes me just as uneasy as it did when my mother-in-law suggested we just move closer to her and she would raise the child for us. It's our baby; I want to do it myself. If that means I end up exhausted and overcommitted, I guess that's just how it will have to be.

Everything is going great with the pregnancy so far. I finally started gaining weight. It's all thanks to ranch dip, which I slathered on baked potatoes every day for a week. I am now porkier than ever before, and my belly is getting rounder by the day. Still haven't felt the baby move, though I do spend long minutes with my hand on my stomach gazing into space trying to figure out whether I am feeling fetal kicks or digestive rumbles.

Holiday Guilt

The holidays are over, and I'm a little glad. I love all the anticipation and the sense of celebration that pervades everyday life around the holiday season - cookies in the lunchroom for no particular reason, decorations all over town, people smiling at one another more than usual. But somehow it seemed like too much this year. I couldn't wait for the feast to be over so I could get into fasting mode.

Sometimes I feel terrifically guilty about Christmas. This year, we're supposed to be saving money for a house, but instead, we spent lots of money on gifts that maybe weren't exactly what people wanted. And got in return, lots of things that were thoughtfully chosen for us, that we didn't particularly want or need. Not wanting or not being able to properly appreciate a gift from a loved one feels somehow like I'm rejecting the person, or the affection they were trying to express. I don't mean to - I want to appreciate everything, and I always appreciate the thought that went into a gift. But sometimes I just don't need another electronic gadget. Or another box of tea, or a beautiful ornament to sit on a shelf somewhere. I would rather spend an afternoon in the park with my family than have any gifts at all.

When we got back to our apartment after everything was over, and I started trying to find places to put all the new things (when already the apartment is crowded and cluttered with things that we just don't have room for), I felt like crying. All this stuff was supposed to make me happy. I think overlaid on the guilt that it doesn't, is the wretched feeling of duplicity because of course I acted excited about each new thing, and thanked the giver, and came up with reasons why the gift was perfect, just right, etc. It's such an emotionally complicated time of year.

I think Christmastime is sort of a magnification and extension of the year-round guilt I feel about my father. I always feel that I should be doing more for him, spending more time with him, etc. He's very sensitive to rejection, more so than most people, and he puts a lot of time and energy into doing these wonderfully thoughtful things for me.

When I was a kid, for instance, every year for my birthday he would design a treasure hunt. The hunts got more and more complex and amazing as I grew older, incorporating ciphers and things I had learned at school that year, and I would usually invite a gang of friends over to help and it would be an all-day adventure. We'd race up and down the stairs, to the top of the yard and back, searching for the next clue in a frenzy of excitement. I remember those hunts with the same rush of joy as I recall Christmases of my childhood, when I was at a peak of happiness pretty much all day long. But as I got older, somehow the hunts stopped being as much fun. My friends were growing up too and weren't as interested in participating. A couple of years, I couldn't get anyone to come over, and walking around by myself tracking down clues seemed kind of sad. I also started feeling that the obligation to appreciate the cleverness of the puzzles was outweighing the pleasure I got from solving them. But I didn't know how to tell my dad that he didn't have to keep making me treasure hunts each year. Once or twice I hinted that maybe I was outgrowing them, but then he would get kind of quiet and I could tell he was sad that I didn't enjoy the hunts he put so much love into. Finally last year, there was no hunt, and I was secretly relieved. Why is it that when you say, "I don't love this thing, but I still love YOU," people tend to only hear the first part of the sentence?

I've been thinking more about my dad lately because he's at kind of a low point. He doesn't have a job or friends really, or anything going on in his life that he can put his energy into. He's one of the most intelligent people I've ever known, and to see his talent and potential going to waste is hard. I'm afraid he is depressed, and I don't know how to lift him out of it. From time to time I try to get him involved in new things, and he always really tries - actually he tries too hard. He sinks so much energy into things that he burns out. He can't just enjoy trying a new skill, he has to get really good at it, or else "fail" and feel miserable. New people aren't just acquaintances that he can get to know better, they're instant friends whose unintentional rebuffs or preoccupation wound him. I don't know how to get him to relax. In the meantime, he's lonely and sad, and the things that work for my mom (church) and me (work and friends) to keep us involved with the world aren't there for him.