Oof. So I went to see a big shiny musical yesterday. And it was lovely. It had people in it I know from being in other big shiny musicals.
I find it really difficult not to feel terrible about myself when I go see people who work all the time, because my brain bounces back and forth between - why can't that be me and clearly I am not working all the time because I'm not talented enough.
Neither of which are useful things to have running through one's head, no matter what the truth might be.
But I was thinking, hey, I just had a baby, I get time off for good behavior, right? I'm not on stage, but at home I have this cute little awesome person that I adore, and that's worth not being in a trillion shows.
Then, waiting to hug people I knew afterwards, it became clear that the woman who played the lead (beautifully, I must add)...(WAIT FOR IT)...has a baby.
A baby.
So, folks, yes, the answer is that I am just not that great, just not on the career path. Because turns out, having a baby apparently only keeps me from working. Other people, more successful, talented people, work all the time.
Don't start with me, I know despair isn't attractive. I just have no other response to this series of information.
Next week I start rehearsals for a show I'm understudying - and I genuinely don't feel bad I didn't get cast, because the woman I'm understudying is phenomenal, and I love her. I can only hope going to rehearsal helps me feel less like the hack I feel right now.
(By the way, the baby is still really cute. Mine, that is. I still love her to bits.)
Monday, August 18, 2014
Tuesday, August 05, 2014
Too much
Sometimes, it's not that I have nothing to say, it's that I have so much to say, all contradictory, and not nearly enough time to write it all down. But if I write the one thing without the contradiction, it won't represent what I really feel, it will just be a blip from one minute side of the question.
This is probably why I resort to bullet lists so frequently.
Anyway, there's a lot going on, most of it good. And now I need a nap.
No, need a nap. Turns out there's a difference between need and want.
This is probably why I resort to bullet lists so frequently.
Anyway, there's a lot going on, most of it good. And now I need a nap.
No, need a nap. Turns out there's a difference between need and want.
Tuesday, June 03, 2014
Then he broke the faucet
I thought last week would be hard, because I was at home with my daughter pretty much on my own, for eight days. I had a little break half way through, and an assist from a friend for an hour here and there to go running, but it was just me and her for eight days.
It wasn't hard, turns out. I had cleared my schedule for the most part, so I could really focus on her and on whatever needed to happen. There were very few distractions, and everyone I went to hang out with was very understanding about having an occasionally vocal four-month-old around.
Turns out, what was hard was this week, when I abruptly came back to being around the entire world (instead of my selected super-understanding cohort of specially sympathetic friends), the "real" world, if you will.
In the real world, I am now only an accessory to the cuteness of my daughter, and have ceased to have very much personhood.
It's not her fault, by the way. She's a baby, and she's not unreasonable or fussy or difficult. She's smiley and adorable and really only makes noise when she's hungry, dirty, or bored. I want her to grow and turn into a person I'd like to be around, so I want to give her the things she needs, because then she'll be healthy and secure enough to be interested in the rest of the world.
It just turns out, sometimes it's really hard to give a child all the things they need and have enough time left to be much of a person yourself. It doesn't last, by the way - thought I am sure there are always decisions between what you need for yourself and what your child needs - but the really intense time is now, and we're moving through it fairly well.
Just not today. Today I feel like I had to press "pause" on life, and today I miss my life. Today I worry if I'll ever get to be in a play again, or sing worth a damn for any band or musical, or write more than a thank you note, or even read an entire book without having to stop a trillion times. Or even have a conversation without interruption. (Or fit into my old clothes.)
"Nope!" laugh other parents out there. "No, you won't, sugar! Get used to it!"
My husband came home from 10 days away and had to literally leave the house within the hour to start working on a different part of his work-life. He's great, he really works hard to make sure I'm able to do things outside the house, but the reality of his situation is that within 24 hours of achieving his graduate degree, he had other fires to work on putting out. (Also, before he left, he broke the faucet. Sigh.)
I get it, I do. I try really hard not to feel far down on his list of priorities because he constantly tries to put me and her first. It's just...
By the time it's ever my turn out of the house again, I will probably have no skills/interests/talents/viability left.
I don't really believe that. Do I? Maybe just today I do.
And let's get into the hardest part, the probable reason for this glum mood - it was really hard to get my daughter to sleep tonight. She cried. Hard. I had to put her down crying. She calmed down and went to sleep, but my last psychic glimpse of her, this tiny person I'm giving up myself for, was of a truly distraught tiny creature, unhappily wailing.
It hurts me. It's so hard to have her cry like that. I hate it. The fact that she went to sleep within five minutes means she was crying because she just wanted to fight the sleep, and I know that, and thus I know I'm still doing the right thing for her, but she's often such a happy thing, that listening to the crying is draining emotionally.
Because here's the thing. If you feel, however wrongly or in passing, that you're giving up your self for another human being, and yet the feedback you're getting implies that you're not doing a very good job...
...then it's a rough day.
Y'all, I love her so much. Here's hoping she wakes up with a smile.
In happier news, the faucet is already fixed.
It wasn't hard, turns out. I had cleared my schedule for the most part, so I could really focus on her and on whatever needed to happen. There were very few distractions, and everyone I went to hang out with was very understanding about having an occasionally vocal four-month-old around.
Turns out, what was hard was this week, when I abruptly came back to being around the entire world (instead of my selected super-understanding cohort of specially sympathetic friends), the "real" world, if you will.
In the real world, I am now only an accessory to the cuteness of my daughter, and have ceased to have very much personhood.
It's not her fault, by the way. She's a baby, and she's not unreasonable or fussy or difficult. She's smiley and adorable and really only makes noise when she's hungry, dirty, or bored. I want her to grow and turn into a person I'd like to be around, so I want to give her the things she needs, because then she'll be healthy and secure enough to be interested in the rest of the world.
It just turns out, sometimes it's really hard to give a child all the things they need and have enough time left to be much of a person yourself. It doesn't last, by the way - thought I am sure there are always decisions between what you need for yourself and what your child needs - but the really intense time is now, and we're moving through it fairly well.
Just not today. Today I feel like I had to press "pause" on life, and today I miss my life. Today I worry if I'll ever get to be in a play again, or sing worth a damn for any band or musical, or write more than a thank you note, or even read an entire book without having to stop a trillion times. Or even have a conversation without interruption. (Or fit into my old clothes.)
"Nope!" laugh other parents out there. "No, you won't, sugar! Get used to it!"
My husband came home from 10 days away and had to literally leave the house within the hour to start working on a different part of his work-life. He's great, he really works hard to make sure I'm able to do things outside the house, but the reality of his situation is that within 24 hours of achieving his graduate degree, he had other fires to work on putting out. (Also, before he left, he broke the faucet. Sigh.)
I get it, I do. I try really hard not to feel far down on his list of priorities because he constantly tries to put me and her first. It's just...
By the time it's ever my turn out of the house again, I will probably have no skills/interests/talents/viability left.
I don't really believe that. Do I? Maybe just today I do.
And let's get into the hardest part, the probable reason for this glum mood - it was really hard to get my daughter to sleep tonight. She cried. Hard. I had to put her down crying. She calmed down and went to sleep, but my last psychic glimpse of her, this tiny person I'm giving up myself for, was of a truly distraught tiny creature, unhappily wailing.
It hurts me. It's so hard to have her cry like that. I hate it. The fact that she went to sleep within five minutes means she was crying because she just wanted to fight the sleep, and I know that, and thus I know I'm still doing the right thing for her, but she's often such a happy thing, that listening to the crying is draining emotionally.
Because here's the thing. If you feel, however wrongly or in passing, that you're giving up your self for another human being, and yet the feedback you're getting implies that you're not doing a very good job...
...then it's a rough day.
Y'all, I love her so much. Here's hoping she wakes up with a smile.
In happier news, the faucet is already fixed.
Friday, April 25, 2014
What's going on
I don't trust myself to write a lot intended to be shoved out here in a public space right now. First, with an infant taking up nearly all my waking hours, everything is changing moment to moment. I'm thrilled then I'm sad then I'm bored then I'm frustrated then I'm charmed then I'm terrified. Additionally, I have a ton of hormones still running through my system that I neither understand nor control. Apparently I will have them until I stop breastfeeding. Awesome.
For instance, this morning I was convinced I am a terrible mother. And I bet if I didn't write it down, I'd forget about it, and someday I would look back on this period and think, hmm, I did a pretty okay job, all things considered. But of course if I write about it right now, instead I'll color my memories with the self doubt that listening to your child cry engenders. But if I write about it, I might be able to make sense of it in my mind. But if I write about it, I might begin, and the sound of crying may force me to stop halfway and I'll have yet another abandoned post. (There are quite a few.)
Also, earlier today my husband asked: is there anyone you can talk to about any of this (meaning the parenting decisions I'm making)? And when I thought about it, I realized: in a way, the answer is "no". Because parenting philosophies are really personal, charged decisions and everyone gets defensive about whatever choices get made. But every kid is different. So while yes, someone out there has probably lived through a similar situation, I don't know that person, and the people I do know are more likely to be aghast that I'm trying any sort of sleep training this young, or never needed it because their child never had problems sleeping all night long. (Sheesh.)
It's knowing that if I ask one set of people, they'll tell me I should abandon my current course altogether, whereas if I ask another, they'll tell me I need to toughen up. Neither feel exactly right for this kid at this time. But I can't guarantee any of what I am doing is helping. I'm just guessing in the dark right now, trying different stuff, which unfortunately ruins any attempt at consistency. Consistency is supposed to be the best tool at your disposal. But how can you be consistent when you can't tell what works?
It. is. tricky.
And then sometimes my daughter will push up with her legs and stand on my knees, and smile and smile, and make little squealy raptor noises, and then it doesn't matter that I'm surviving on so few hours of sleep every single night, it doesn't matter if she cries when it's naptime, the erosion of who I am doesn't matter because it's being replaced by who I'm going to be with this new person in my life, once she figures out who she is.
Because though I can't really call it a two-way street yet, I added a lot of love to my life when we had her.
Which is worth every item of clothing I have being covered in spit up for the next year or so, right?
For instance, this morning I was convinced I am a terrible mother. And I bet if I didn't write it down, I'd forget about it, and someday I would look back on this period and think, hmm, I did a pretty okay job, all things considered. But of course if I write about it right now, instead I'll color my memories with the self doubt that listening to your child cry engenders. But if I write about it, I might be able to make sense of it in my mind. But if I write about it, I might begin, and the sound of crying may force me to stop halfway and I'll have yet another abandoned post. (There are quite a few.)
Also, earlier today my husband asked: is there anyone you can talk to about any of this (meaning the parenting decisions I'm making)? And when I thought about it, I realized: in a way, the answer is "no". Because parenting philosophies are really personal, charged decisions and everyone gets defensive about whatever choices get made. But every kid is different. So while yes, someone out there has probably lived through a similar situation, I don't know that person, and the people I do know are more likely to be aghast that I'm trying any sort of sleep training this young, or never needed it because their child never had problems sleeping all night long. (Sheesh.)
It's knowing that if I ask one set of people, they'll tell me I should abandon my current course altogether, whereas if I ask another, they'll tell me I need to toughen up. Neither feel exactly right for this kid at this time. But I can't guarantee any of what I am doing is helping. I'm just guessing in the dark right now, trying different stuff, which unfortunately ruins any attempt at consistency. Consistency is supposed to be the best tool at your disposal. But how can you be consistent when you can't tell what works?
It. is. tricky.
And then sometimes my daughter will push up with her legs and stand on my knees, and smile and smile, and make little squealy raptor noises, and then it doesn't matter that I'm surviving on so few hours of sleep every single night, it doesn't matter if she cries when it's naptime, the erosion of who I am doesn't matter because it's being replaced by who I'm going to be with this new person in my life, once she figures out who she is.
Because though I can't really call it a two-way street yet, I added a lot of love to my life when we had her.
Which is worth every item of clothing I have being covered in spit up for the next year or so, right?
Thursday, April 17, 2014
So much wasted time
In a way, it's lucky that my current phone somehow won't track how long each call is. It tells me what time the call originated, but not when it ended, and thus, not the duration. I miss this feature - I lost it when I was forced to change carriers recently (ours got bought).
But that means I can't go back and tabulate how many hours I have spent on hold trying to sort out my health insurance and that of my new daughter. I am in no way exaggerating when I put the estimate in terms of 25-30 hours on hold since December. I'm probably underestimating. Every time I think I have it sorted out - and I mean, just getting the coverage, not even dealing with any of the claims as of yet - something happens and I get to spend another round of waiting to talk to people. I think my record is three hours and twenty minutes on hold at Blue Cross Blue Shield.
And a lot of this is for stupid details: I thought I sorted it all out in January, only to be sent an id card with my name misspelled. This came from an agency that has access to my social security number. Surely they could match that with my name? I mean, they're going to need to access my taxes, it will really help to be asking for the correct person's information.
Now I'm suddenly enrolled in a program that might be a huge help, but the information tells me it costs one thing, and the invoice they're asking me to pay is six times that. So...huhn? Which means...oh dear god...I'm back on hold.
All of these calls are much trickier with an infant on hand, you know.
On the positive side, I figure if there's a purgatory, I'm shortening my time there as we speak. Or rather, as we don't speak, as we wait on hold for someone to speak to.
Sigh.
But that means I can't go back and tabulate how many hours I have spent on hold trying to sort out my health insurance and that of my new daughter. I am in no way exaggerating when I put the estimate in terms of 25-30 hours on hold since December. I'm probably underestimating. Every time I think I have it sorted out - and I mean, just getting the coverage, not even dealing with any of the claims as of yet - something happens and I get to spend another round of waiting to talk to people. I think my record is three hours and twenty minutes on hold at Blue Cross Blue Shield.
And a lot of this is for stupid details: I thought I sorted it all out in January, only to be sent an id card with my name misspelled. This came from an agency that has access to my social security number. Surely they could match that with my name? I mean, they're going to need to access my taxes, it will really help to be asking for the correct person's information.
Now I'm suddenly enrolled in a program that might be a huge help, but the information tells me it costs one thing, and the invoice they're asking me to pay is six times that. So...huhn? Which means...oh dear god...I'm back on hold.
All of these calls are much trickier with an infant on hand, you know.
On the positive side, I figure if there's a purgatory, I'm shortening my time there as we speak. Or rather, as we don't speak, as we wait on hold for someone to speak to.
Sigh.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Quick ones
This will be a lightening fast post, because my daughter is squirming away on a mat at my feet, and she will get bored at some point and require me to stop.
It's just, I cast my eye across one of my posts from November - oh-so-anxious-will-I-even-love-this-baby, and I feel compelled to go on record:
I totally love this baby. I am absolutely in love with this baby. And there are lots of anxieties, but they've changed into ones about her, not about me. I still worry if we can make enough money to take care of her. I still worry we can take care of her (there's a lot about babies I still find bewildering). But she is beautiful and joyful in a way I really couldn't imagine. When she sleeps, I look at pictures of her. When she's awake, I like to nuzzle her baby-soft head. When she cries, I hold her and try to make it better. I love seeing her smile when I come pick her up. Heck, I love seeing her smile anytime. She is glorious. And she's not even fully a person yet. I can't wait to see how much I love her when she's truly interactive, when she's fully exploring the world, when she can talk and laugh and crawl around.
I want to go on record to say: if you don't want kids, can't have kids, or for whatever reason won't end up with kids, that is not a problem. There are a lot of things in life I won't do, and it doesn't take away from their value that I don't do them, and it doesn't take away from my value that I don't do them. So please, when I wax poetic, I'm just telling you about what's going on with me. It's incredible...for me.
And with that out of the way, let me get back to my bundle of utter adorableness. She's so freakin' cute, y'all. I luuuurve her.
It's just, I cast my eye across one of my posts from November - oh-so-anxious-will-I-even-love-this-baby, and I feel compelled to go on record:
I totally love this baby. I am absolutely in love with this baby. And there are lots of anxieties, but they've changed into ones about her, not about me. I still worry if we can make enough money to take care of her. I still worry we can take care of her (there's a lot about babies I still find bewildering). But she is beautiful and joyful in a way I really couldn't imagine. When she sleeps, I look at pictures of her. When she's awake, I like to nuzzle her baby-soft head. When she cries, I hold her and try to make it better. I love seeing her smile when I come pick her up. Heck, I love seeing her smile anytime. She is glorious. And she's not even fully a person yet. I can't wait to see how much I love her when she's truly interactive, when she's fully exploring the world, when she can talk and laugh and crawl around.
I want to go on record to say: if you don't want kids, can't have kids, or for whatever reason won't end up with kids, that is not a problem. There are a lot of things in life I won't do, and it doesn't take away from their value that I don't do them, and it doesn't take away from my value that I don't do them. So please, when I wax poetic, I'm just telling you about what's going on with me. It's incredible...for me.
And with that out of the way, let me get back to my bundle of utter adorableness. She's so freakin' cute, y'all. I luuuurve her.
Thursday, March 06, 2014
Yep
Turns out, a baby takes considerable time and effort. I expected that. What they don't tell you is that it takes all the hands you have, and if the baby doesn't nap at convenient times, you don't have time to use both hands.
Also, when you pick midwives because they have a 15-20% cesarean rate, you just don't figure you will be the 15-20% getting one.
So, recovering from major surgery here, with a baby. Who last night did not sleep.
Technically, this makes me a mommyblogger. But truthfully, I am no blogger at all for the next few weeks. Hopefully, I'll be back and can catch all 4 of you up on the highs and lows. There are lows, ugh, so low, but happily, there are highs. And I promise cute baby pictures at some point.
Also, when you pick midwives because they have a 15-20% cesarean rate, you just don't figure you will be the 15-20% getting one.
So, recovering from major surgery here, with a baby. Who last night did not sleep.
Technically, this makes me a mommyblogger. But truthfully, I am no blogger at all for the next few weeks. Hopefully, I'll be back and can catch all 4 of you up on the highs and lows. There are lows, ugh, so low, but happily, there are highs. And I promise cute baby pictures at some point.
Wednesday, January 01, 2014
Not helping
Lovely husband: It's 2014.
Me: Yep. Here we are.
LH: You're going to start having contractions pretty much any time now.
Me: Yeeessss...um, thanks for the reminder?
LH: It's probably going to hurt.
Me: This is not as helpful as you think it is.
LH: This is the year we have a baby.
Happy New Year, folks. It's a threshold here in my world - I hope it's a bridge to all of the next for you as well. More when my fingers start working again. (Don't ask: pregnancy turns out to be seriously inconvenient towards the end. At least that's my experience.)
Me: Yep. Here we are.
LH: You're going to start having contractions pretty much any time now.
Me: Yeeessss...um, thanks for the reminder?
LH: It's probably going to hurt.
Me: This is not as helpful as you think it is.
LH: This is the year we have a baby.
Happy New Year, folks. It's a threshold here in my world - I hope it's a bridge to all of the next for you as well. More when my fingers start working again. (Don't ask: pregnancy turns out to be seriously inconvenient towards the end. At least that's my experience.)
Sunday, December 08, 2013
Well, this has been fun
The last couple of weeks have not been my favorite. Family stuff blew up, and I blew up, and the residual feelings of blame, guilt and regret are not helping the general terror I have at the oncoming baby.
Oh, have I not mentioned? I'm terrified. When I say this aloud, as lightly as possibly, people tend to ask something like - terrified of having a child, or terrified of the labor? Yes. Yes. All of the above.
Starting with first things first, the whole impending labor is utterly terrifying. There will be pain. Lots of pain. Possibly the most intense pain I've ever had to deal with, for an unspecified length of time, which could drag on quite ponderously. And the more I learn about this pain, the more I realize - I have to at least give it a go. Because if I take the drugs (and I have no political agenda, if I really feel I can't do it, I'll take the drugs), the drugs get in the way of what really should happen. The body has a plan, a set of tactics that will aid the whole process, and once I take the drugs, I interrupt the setup created by thousands of years of evolution. So...I have to try to avoid the drugs, try much harder than I once thought.
But let's look at labor as a finite amount of time that will eventually pass. I'm terrified, but it will end. But as it ends, the terror is just beginning! If we make it through, if the baby is healthy, then I get to start an entire lifetime of taking care of this brand new human being.
I'm terrified I'll make a mess of it.
I'm terrified I'll lose every part of myself to this new responsibility.
I'm terrified the baby won't be healthy.
I'm terrified I won't be healthy.
I'm terrified the baby will never sleep and will never stop crying.
I'm terrified I'll discover I have no capability to take care of this thing.
I'm also terrified that I won't ever be able to think beyond it again, or think of anything else without feeling like a bad mother. I wanted to have a family to have a bigger life, not have my life narrow down into simply being a caretaker.
And I'm terrified to hit post on this, because I don't love the idea of being judged for feeling this way. Also, the internet never goes away. What if I love my child with every fiber of my being when he or she gets here, and all of this fear fades into the background, but someday he or she stumbles upon this? I could be damaging my favorite human being just by being honest about how I'm feeling right now. (Ok, inkling, if you're reading this, just know I hadn't even met you yet, you were just some kicking keeping me awake and making me feel like an unattractive walrus. Judge me by how I am with you now, not by this.)
Man, this parenthood thing is triiiicky. I already feel as if I'm proving to be absolute crap at it. (Inkling, for your sake I hope I get better really quickly.)
Right. I guess...enough whining. This was my choice, and fear is an indicator that I am doing something that will force me to grow as a human being.
Perhaps the greater the fear, the greater the coming growth.
Perhaps.
I guess I have to hope so. And I have to figure out something to hold on to during the fear.
Oh, have I not mentioned? I'm terrified. When I say this aloud, as lightly as possibly, people tend to ask something like - terrified of having a child, or terrified of the labor? Yes. Yes. All of the above.
Starting with first things first, the whole impending labor is utterly terrifying. There will be pain. Lots of pain. Possibly the most intense pain I've ever had to deal with, for an unspecified length of time, which could drag on quite ponderously. And the more I learn about this pain, the more I realize - I have to at least give it a go. Because if I take the drugs (and I have no political agenda, if I really feel I can't do it, I'll take the drugs), the drugs get in the way of what really should happen. The body has a plan, a set of tactics that will aid the whole process, and once I take the drugs, I interrupt the setup created by thousands of years of evolution. So...I have to try to avoid the drugs, try much harder than I once thought.
But let's look at labor as a finite amount of time that will eventually pass. I'm terrified, but it will end. But as it ends, the terror is just beginning! If we make it through, if the baby is healthy, then I get to start an entire lifetime of taking care of this brand new human being.
I'm terrified I'll make a mess of it.
I'm terrified I'll lose every part of myself to this new responsibility.
I'm terrified the baby won't be healthy.
I'm terrified I won't be healthy.
I'm terrified the baby will never sleep and will never stop crying.
I'm terrified I'll discover I have no capability to take care of this thing.
I'm also terrified that I won't ever be able to think beyond it again, or think of anything else without feeling like a bad mother. I wanted to have a family to have a bigger life, not have my life narrow down into simply being a caretaker.
And I'm terrified to hit post on this, because I don't love the idea of being judged for feeling this way. Also, the internet never goes away. What if I love my child with every fiber of my being when he or she gets here, and all of this fear fades into the background, but someday he or she stumbles upon this? I could be damaging my favorite human being just by being honest about how I'm feeling right now. (Ok, inkling, if you're reading this, just know I hadn't even met you yet, you were just some kicking keeping me awake and making me feel like an unattractive walrus. Judge me by how I am with you now, not by this.)
Man, this parenthood thing is triiiicky. I already feel as if I'm proving to be absolute crap at it. (Inkling, for your sake I hope I get better really quickly.)
Right. I guess...enough whining. This was my choice, and fear is an indicator that I am doing something that will force me to grow as a human being.
Perhaps the greater the fear, the greater the coming growth.
Perhaps.
I guess I have to hope so. And I have to figure out something to hold on to during the fear.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Great question
A friend saved my life today by asking me a very interesting question.
"What's the thing you're looking most forward to, having a baby?"
And I realized that for the moment, if I were being super honest, I would have said, nothing, but I couldn't really say that so I had to reach into my mind and turn it inside out. I need an attitude adjustment. Because yes, this whole process is terrifying, but I wouldn't be going through it if I didn't want to have children. I do want to have children. I have always wanted to have children. I like them, I like being around them and I get a lot of enjoyment from the ones I teach.
I told him I'm looking forward to being there to watch a child discover things for the first time, to be able to introduce the things I love to another person who will be (at least for the first 5-6 years) consistently blown away by the world. And I was sort of making that answer up, but as I said it, it also felt really true. I am looking forward to that. "What thing will you be most excited about introducing him or her to?" my friend asked, and I said everything, I mean, dinosaurs! How cool are dinosaurs! And that's just the beginning. But when I thought about it more, my answer is: story. I'm most excited to introduce story to my child. Music a close second.
Ever since that moment, I've realized how much fear is running me for the moment. I'm not proud of that, though I can give myself a break and admit it's pretty reasonable and normal. I'm so frightened of what I may be losing and how painful this change is going to be that I have no space to dwell on the amazing thing I may get in return. Because even without story or dinosaurs or music or anything else, I'm about to bring more love into the world. Maybe more of some other things, too, maybe a little more mess or order or science or art (or crazy), but no matter what, I can teach a child to love, and my family can help, and that will ricochet through our lives forever.
I'm mostly still terrified. And I do deeply fear losing myself to this person who doesn't exist yet. But a tiny corner of my brain opened up this week to the idea that maybe, just maybe, this might be fun.
"What's the thing you're looking most forward to, having a baby?"
And I realized that for the moment, if I were being super honest, I would have said, nothing, but I couldn't really say that so I had to reach into my mind and turn it inside out. I need an attitude adjustment. Because yes, this whole process is terrifying, but I wouldn't be going through it if I didn't want to have children. I do want to have children. I have always wanted to have children. I like them, I like being around them and I get a lot of enjoyment from the ones I teach.
I told him I'm looking forward to being there to watch a child discover things for the first time, to be able to introduce the things I love to another person who will be (at least for the first 5-6 years) consistently blown away by the world. And I was sort of making that answer up, but as I said it, it also felt really true. I am looking forward to that. "What thing will you be most excited about introducing him or her to?" my friend asked, and I said everything, I mean, dinosaurs! How cool are dinosaurs! And that's just the beginning. But when I thought about it more, my answer is: story. I'm most excited to introduce story to my child. Music a close second.
Ever since that moment, I've realized how much fear is running me for the moment. I'm not proud of that, though I can give myself a break and admit it's pretty reasonable and normal. I'm so frightened of what I may be losing and how painful this change is going to be that I have no space to dwell on the amazing thing I may get in return. Because even without story or dinosaurs or music or anything else, I'm about to bring more love into the world. Maybe more of some other things, too, maybe a little more mess or order or science or art (or crazy), but no matter what, I can teach a child to love, and my family can help, and that will ricochet through our lives forever.
I'm mostly still terrified. And I do deeply fear losing myself to this person who doesn't exist yet. But a tiny corner of my brain opened up this week to the idea that maybe, just maybe, this might be fun.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Just gonna get harder
This was the week being pregnant really wasn't pleasant. I've been sailing through relatively easily, but this week a car wreck, plus traveling in a plane to a place with air dry enough to give me nosebleeds, plus possibly the beginnings of hemrrhoids (yep, joy), plus swelling in my ankles and feet, plus true exhaustion born of aforesaid travel, all combined to make me fairly miserable.
The anxiety is really coming to the forefront, as well. This is truly scary, having a child, and I have no idea what I'm doing, or even to some extent why some days. I don't know if this child will be healthy, or someone I can like. I don't know if I can make enough money to support him/her (we still don't know). I don't know if I will end up giving up all of what I want and what I love to support and care for this being who will be in a pretty basic mode for the first year or so. It's terrifying. And that's just anxiety about the baby itself...what about the birth?? That's truly terrifying as well - pain I cannot even imagine. Truth be told, going through the nine months of pregnancy is pretty troubling, since you really do give up an entire lifetime of understanding what your body does and how it behaves for months of uncertainty and new limits on what you can do every day. It's a slow losing of oneself, and that's difficult for me (and probably most people, really).
I hope after the birth I come back to this blog and write how much it's all worth it. I already know how lucky I am to be pregnant at all. When I actually meet this person my body is creating, I hope to be blown away by the event. Because there's no getting around the fact that I am doing this, and the only other alternatives to going through childbirth and caring for the baby are so sad and heartbreaking they don't bear thinking about.
The anxiety is really coming to the forefront, as well. This is truly scary, having a child, and I have no idea what I'm doing, or even to some extent why some days. I don't know if this child will be healthy, or someone I can like. I don't know if I can make enough money to support him/her (we still don't know). I don't know if I will end up giving up all of what I want and what I love to support and care for this being who will be in a pretty basic mode for the first year or so. It's terrifying. And that's just anxiety about the baby itself...what about the birth?? That's truly terrifying as well - pain I cannot even imagine. Truth be told, going through the nine months of pregnancy is pretty troubling, since you really do give up an entire lifetime of understanding what your body does and how it behaves for months of uncertainty and new limits on what you can do every day. It's a slow losing of oneself, and that's difficult for me (and probably most people, really).
I hope after the birth I come back to this blog and write how much it's all worth it. I already know how lucky I am to be pregnant at all. When I actually meet this person my body is creating, I hope to be blown away by the event. Because there's no getting around the fact that I am doing this, and the only other alternatives to going through childbirth and caring for the baby are so sad and heartbreaking they don't bear thinking about.
Monday, November 04, 2013
What a difference
I forget every single time. I get bogged down in something that isn't theatre - no rehearsals, not in a show, whatever - and I forget that I physically need it, like Vitamin C, to function. Then I get a dose from somewhere and, bam! I perk up, the jaundice fades, life gets sparky again.
This does worry me about having a baby. Naturally. Heh. Because it's definitely going to be a while until I can do much of anything. Heh.
But guys! Guys! I did a play reading last night, and I felt so differently afterwards it was astonishing. And here's the nice part - reading that play, sitting there trying to do justice to a story with lots of other people to bounce off of and react to, I could actually feel power coming back online. I could feel the medicine working. And I could feel myself being good at this.
Ok, that sounds obnoxious. Sorry. There are still lots of people who are way better. I don't mean I'm amazing. But I can say I have experience and enthusiasm, and even occasional flashes of talent. It was a really lovely night.
On the strength of it, I managed to get the hell out of bed this morning and exercise, and start working my way through a pile of things that need to get done. Because when you're an actor, you're supposed to act, or else what's the use of talking? And when you do act, you get the nutrients you need from life.
Bless that man for asking me to take part. And universe....you need to book me something for after this baby. Because I want to be there and enjoy it and have a great time having a kid, and I will be worse than useless if there's nothing to give me this feeling.
This does worry me about having a baby. Naturally. Heh. Because it's definitely going to be a while until I can do much of anything. Heh.
But guys! Guys! I did a play reading last night, and I felt so differently afterwards it was astonishing. And here's the nice part - reading that play, sitting there trying to do justice to a story with lots of other people to bounce off of and react to, I could actually feel power coming back online. I could feel the medicine working. And I could feel myself being good at this.
Ok, that sounds obnoxious. Sorry. There are still lots of people who are way better. I don't mean I'm amazing. But I can say I have experience and enthusiasm, and even occasional flashes of talent. It was a really lovely night.
On the strength of it, I managed to get the hell out of bed this morning and exercise, and start working my way through a pile of things that need to get done. Because when you're an actor, you're supposed to act, or else what's the use of talking? And when you do act, you get the nutrients you need from life.
Bless that man for asking me to take part. And universe....you need to book me something for after this baby. Because I want to be there and enjoy it and have a great time having a kid, and I will be worse than useless if there's nothing to give me this feeling.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Oof
I haven't been writing much, and eventually I'll probably regret that. Later I'll wonder how I felt throughout pregnancy, and there won't be a record. Maybe the lack of notes means I'm busy being instead of analyzing, for a change, though I won't bet on that. Maybe if I wrote all the time it would just be one long refrain on "I'm tired and mostly frightened of the future."
I wish I could say I'm at one with the mystery of creating a child. Yes, baby clothes (and things) are really cute. I held a three week old baby this weekend and he was beautiful. I see that this all has a magic I'm lucky to experience. I didn't get pregnant because I thought I should or my husband wanted children or my parents needed grandchildren. I did it because I honestly love kids and think it ought to be exciting and fun to have a family. It's unexplored territory, new horizons.
Truth: most of the time I feel like I'm losing myself already, and the baby isn't even born yet. I'm not resenting the baby, still far from it, but so much of my being has been tabled while I do this new thing that I don't feel myself. I feel like a washed out, faded version of myself. Hormones flood my body and this temporary state feels permanent, as if my personality were a balloon leaking air.
And just when I get worked up, I have to take a nap.
I know the idea of an excuse to be lazy and eat a lot of food sounds great, but in practice it isn't.
Now, I gotta go take a nap. I hope...I don't know, I hope it turns out the baby is taking a third of my oxygen, blood supply, and energy, and when he/she is born, I'll discover I have all those things back - plus a new baby that my body grew all on its own.
And I hope radio drama makes a big comeback in the US so if I'm ever pregnant again I have something I can do to keep me sane.
I wish I could say I'm at one with the mystery of creating a child. Yes, baby clothes (and things) are really cute. I held a three week old baby this weekend and he was beautiful. I see that this all has a magic I'm lucky to experience. I didn't get pregnant because I thought I should or my husband wanted children or my parents needed grandchildren. I did it because I honestly love kids and think it ought to be exciting and fun to have a family. It's unexplored territory, new horizons.
Truth: most of the time I feel like I'm losing myself already, and the baby isn't even born yet. I'm not resenting the baby, still far from it, but so much of my being has been tabled while I do this new thing that I don't feel myself. I feel like a washed out, faded version of myself. Hormones flood my body and this temporary state feels permanent, as if my personality were a balloon leaking air.
And just when I get worked up, I have to take a nap.
I know the idea of an excuse to be lazy and eat a lot of food sounds great, but in practice it isn't.
Now, I gotta go take a nap. I hope...I don't know, I hope it turns out the baby is taking a third of my oxygen, blood supply, and energy, and when he/she is born, I'll discover I have all those things back - plus a new baby that my body grew all on its own.
And I hope radio drama makes a big comeback in the US so if I'm ever pregnant again I have something I can do to keep me sane.
Thursday, October 03, 2013
Conversation
Me: Well, think about when your girlfriend finally moved in. Remember how you felt?
H: Yeah, it felt like a huge commitment that I wasn't sure I was ready for, but her lease had expired and the clock was ticking and I had to just give it a shot.
Me: Ok, so imagine that instead of your girlfriend, who you knew you loved, you were getting ready to take in a mail-order bride. You've only seen a couple of blurry pictures of her, you've never talked to her, and you don't have any idea if you'll like her or not, but to get the paperwork to clear, you'll be married to her, so the commitment is guaranteed.
H: Oh, that would have made me way more anxious, yes.
Me: But wait. Turns out, not only does she not speak English, she doesn't speak at all, in fact, she doesn't know any basic skills, like how to feed and dress herself, and you'll have to teach her every bit of it, from the ground up.
H: I think I see where this is going.
Me: AND then it turns out you have to give up a third of your blood supply, energy, and oxygen for nine months just to keep her alive.
H: And to make this metaphor work, you gotta include that there won't be any sex.
Me: Right. Yes. That's sort of what having a baby feels like right now.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Urgle
I'm having a little bit of a rough day. Rough week? Rough time? I guess not really a...
Wait. So. I'm used to being pretty lucky, overall. And the internal monologue that runs things over in my head usually tells me I have nothing to complain about! Look at how everything is working out ok! I'm not destitute, or alone, no one in my life has died super recently. When my problems are things like gaining too much weight, then overall my life is on the plus side. (Not to derail where I'm going here, but that's a very individual comment about myself.)
Next week I'll be six months pregnant. I've heard endless horror stories about the pregnancies of others, sickness and issues and all sorts of stuff that can go wrong. Everything is going pretty well for me - I'm generally healthy, I haven't been super sick, and overall things are starting to come together - we've got some stuff, for instance. More is coming. It'll be fine.
If you, dear reader, can just know that I am aware I'm lucky, could I just trouble both of us to put that aside for a second?
Because I currently feel terrified and guilty and worried and out of control.
First, I feel a lot of guilt at just plain getting pregnant. It is super hard for a lot of women, especially women my age. It wasn't simple for me - we'd been at it about three years before it happened, so I'm not one of those oh-as-soon-as-we-decided-to-do-it-it-happened-as-if-by-magic! (I feel as if those people should be kicked. If it's easy for you, great, but no one needs to hear you brag.) But even though we are pregnant now, it's a little like finally getting picked for the volleyball team only to find your friends haven't all made the cut - you feel guilty, even if that choice wasn't yours in the slightest. I mean, why me and why not everyone who wants this?
This leads me to worry about some of the people I had to tell. When we were trying, I had moments when someone would tell me they were pregnant when internally I would cringe, because here was yet another person who had somehow gotten something right and I couldn't. I don't ever want to make someone feel like that, but I'll bet at least one of the people I had to tell recently probably did end up feeling bad about it. I hate that. I don't ever want my success (especially one I didn't control) to make someone else feel less successful.
That dilemma leads me to something else: I don't need anyone else to be excited about this baby I'm having. I needed my parents to be excited, and happily, they are. But everyone else gets a pass. Don't get me wrong - I find it incredibly generous when people are excited for us, and I appreciate it. But our culture places such value on having kids that everyone feels like they have to go ape-shit for every baby that's born. You don't! If you're not into kids, more power to you! Congrats! Whatever you decide to put your energy into, that has value as far as I'm concerned. (Well, maybe not internet porn or your membership in some hate group, but everything else. I can get behind crochet and bird-watching, for instance.) I do not expect everyone to adore my child just because it is a child. That's my job.
Right now I'm living in the middle of all of the no and none of the yes. There are all these things I can't do - I have to turn down endless auditions, I can't drink, I can't eat sushi, I am slowly losing the ability to lie down on my back, I can't exercise the way I used to, soon I won't be able to see my toes. And I fully expect that these slight denials will be balanced by the hopefully wonderful experience of having a child. But I don't know that yet because I don't have the child yet. So I'm turning things down right and left, all for some perceived future benefit. This is fine. This is called delayed gratification. It is also really hard. As human beings, we don't handle delayed gratification well, and I am no exception.
All I can see is what isn't, and I have nothing of what will be to soothe the blow.
Still - I'm terrified that I'm not giving up enough - am I eating too much? (Yes.) Am I doing all the right things to keep the baby healthy? (No idea.) Will some tiny thing I do thinking it won't matter too much have some irrevocable impact on my child's life? (Who knows?)
Also: I'm terrified because people have endless endless expectations of parents. Many of which I don't agree with. We had to register because someone is kindly throwing us a party, and all I could think was, why don't you just give us your old stuff? Why do we have to go through buying new stuff?? Will the baby be that aware that other people have slept in this crib, for instance? Or read these books?
Don't get me started on how stupid it is that nothing for babies is gender neutral. We don't know whether it is a boy or a girl, but everything is classified and produced either in pinks with bows and flowers or in blues with trucks and dogs. What would be so very horrible about a line of clothes in greens or reds or yellows with animals on them? We tell ourselves that gender typing is biological but we treat ONE HOUR OLD INFANTS differently depending on their gender??? We registered for clothes that were pretty gender neutral but most of those are labeled "BOY" - so now everyone in the family thinks we're having a boy. Which hey, we might have, but we just don't know. It. Is. Infuriating.
That's just the stuff. People have expectations about what you'll do, how you'll manage, how you should run your life, whether you've planned where the kid will go to school, EVERYTHING.
Aside: One of the first comments we got from one family was, "You need more money, of course." Really?? We're not flush, but we can feed, house, and insure ourselves. I think overall a lot of people have kids who can't do those things. Are the most successful kids you know the ones who grew up with the most money? No, they aren't, are they...
Then. My body isn't my own anymore. It belongs to some tiny being with apparently really long legs (we don't know the gender but this child's femur was in the 95 percentile for length) that I don't know and I'm not absolutely positive I can handle. The fact that it is hanging out and using me as a growing platform means my body is flooded with hormones I can't control, and I am at the mercy of its whims. It doesn't feel like kicking to me, but I get these pulses of movement, not painful but very distracting. It's gotten harder to sleep. It's gotten more uncomfortable. And this is just the beginning of the discomfort. It will get a lot worse before it gets better.
Worst: I feel all of the above - terror, fear, anxiety, irritation, etc. - but somehow those all feel wrong. I should be blissfully happy at all times, right? I should be thrilled and excited! I am, sometimes. But not always, and every time I get more nervous, I feel I've betrayed this child before it even gets here.
And, hahaha! I was feeling all of this for months when I couldn't tell anyone why. Because miscarriage is a reality, as common as one in three pregnancies for women my age end in miscarriage. That is terrifying. I couldn't talk about it, I couldn't open myself up telling anyone about it when it could end so suddenly.
So I'm having a little bit of a rough day. I hope it will pass. I still expect it's all worth it. I just don't know yet, and that's terrifying.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Shock
I'm in shock and there's no time to absorb it. Oh, I'm fine - I just woke up this morning in London and will go to bed in Chicago and tomorrow I'll fly to Washington, D.C. I'm a little travel weary but basically surviving.
Yes, the rest of the trip continued to be wonderful. What I lacked in personal reflection time I more than made up for by seeing people I adore, who seem to continue to feel the same about me, stunningly. And they all live extraordinary and creative lives, even the ones who think they don't. It's pretty humbling and inspiring to see.
And those were the folks I had time to see!
More eventually. First, laundry, repacking, a little work catch-up, dinner, and BED.
Yes, the rest of the trip continued to be wonderful. What I lacked in personal reflection time I more than made up for by seeing people I adore, who seem to continue to feel the same about me, stunningly. And they all live extraordinary and creative lives, even the ones who think they don't. It's pretty humbling and inspiring to see.
And those were the folks I had time to see!
More eventually. First, laundry, repacking, a little work catch-up, dinner, and BED.
Friday, September 06, 2013
Almost a fairy tale
Gorgeous day. It's hard to realize that people live like this, live in this city every day and can enjoy it. Of course, a lot of London is dirty and unsafe, but lots of it is parks and pubs and structures that date to the eighteenth century or farther. Even if you don't live in a luxury flat with a Thames view, you can leave your grimy bedsit and go off to any one of the free museums that look like palaces. We were in the Natural History Museum today, and it's gorgeous, ornate and yet restrained, multicolored stones and stolid skeletons, stuffed birds and wild sculptures.
I went up to Hampstead, my very first stomping grounds, looked in the window of the Worrell House (my first ever London address) while a ginger cat sat on the ledge and watched me watching some student practice guitar. I walked down over Primrose Hill (Sylvia Plath lived nearby at one point), then down through Regents Park. I went over the canal bridge that runs through the Park. I wanted to use the path along the canal but I was worried I wouldn't have enough time for the long way. I like the canal path because it backs up to the London Zoo, so as you trot along you have every chance of running across the odd wild horned animal peering at you through the fence.
I used one of the rentable bicycles and manuevered from Baker Street (the line of tourists outside of 221B Bake Street was comical, not least because they were all wearing yellow hats - a school group, I presume) all the way to Exhibition Road, which boasts the NHM as well as the V&A, which I wish I'd had time to wander through, if only desultorily.
After a truly amazing Salgado photography exhibit, I ended up picnicing by the round pond in Kensington Gardens, looking back on Kensington Palace, the place Victoria lived before she became queen.
It was beautiful, all of it. Did I mention it rained most of the day? Didn't matter. It was beautiful.
I went up to Hampstead, my very first stomping grounds, looked in the window of the Worrell House (my first ever London address) while a ginger cat sat on the ledge and watched me watching some student practice guitar. I walked down over Primrose Hill (Sylvia Plath lived nearby at one point), then down through Regents Park. I went over the canal bridge that runs through the Park. I wanted to use the path along the canal but I was worried I wouldn't have enough time for the long way. I like the canal path because it backs up to the London Zoo, so as you trot along you have every chance of running across the odd wild horned animal peering at you through the fence.
I used one of the rentable bicycles and manuevered from Baker Street (the line of tourists outside of 221B Bake Street was comical, not least because they were all wearing yellow hats - a school group, I presume) all the way to Exhibition Road, which boasts the NHM as well as the V&A, which I wish I'd had time to wander through, if only desultorily.
After a truly amazing Salgado photography exhibit, I ended up picnicing by the round pond in Kensington Gardens, looking back on Kensington Palace, the place Victoria lived before she became queen.
It was beautiful, all of it. Did I mention it rained most of the day? Didn't matter. It was beautiful.
Thursday, September 05, 2013
The wood
I must must must go to bed, but today I went to a magic place that I will try to describe in more detail later - a ten acre ancient woodland owned by some friends of mine off a canal near Basingstoke. Ancient woodland means the trees have been there at least 400 years - not these same trees, perhaps, but there is a particularly lovely yew tree that may be 300 years old. It's magnificent. We made a fire and cooked an amazing dinner over it (roasted portabellos, grilled cheese, sausages, salad, bits of lamb, hummus, irish soda bread, cheeses - incredible), and went boating on the canal in a boat that unfolded out of a bag and that came out of a neighbor's shed - the neighbor has a house with a thatched roof, some donkeys and some decorative sheep.
The whole thing was really out of a novel of some sort - the idea of what England is, only this was really happening as if it is completely normal and everyday. I was...I was delighted. Charmed.
Now I must go to bed. Sigh. So few days, so much to stuff in them.
The whole thing was really out of a novel of some sort - the idea of what England is, only this was really happening as if it is completely normal and everyday. I was...I was delighted. Charmed.
Now I must go to bed. Sigh. So few days, so much to stuff in them.
Ah, yes
I'm sitting in one of my favorite kitchens in the world, a sunny, bright yellow and green l-shaped room smack in the middle of Chiswick, London. It's glorious, and wonderful, and odd. It feels so much like home and yet I haven't lived here in 13 years, plus I haven't even visited for five. I spent the day with my friend Maeve yesterday. We haven't seen each other properly for eight years (on skype occasionally, but not in person), and yet it was almost as if no time had passed.
Yet I miss my husband, and I am here knowing I have been incredibly lucky the past few years, and that being happy here is partly the result of having made some happiness at home, in my actual life, with my lovely husband, who it must be admitted I miss dreadfully. (He was spectacularly supportive about me coming to visit here, then when I booked the ticket he started moaning about how sad and lonely he'd be without me. Awww.)
Also, I think everyone knows now, more or less, but I don't think I've mentioned out loud here that I'm pregnant. Which is exciting, but changes things. It's also why I'm here - it was a pleasure to tell people in person, but more importantly, I can't imagine I'll have an easy time traveling for a few years after the baby comes. In January. Of 2014.
Yep. Gonna have a baby. A life-changing, possibly life-absorbing baby. It seemed a good time to go haring off across the globe and check in with a self I left behind about twelve years ago. And more importantly, with all the folks who are important to me on this side of the pond, not just myself.
It feels very natural to be here, not forced or strained. There's just a hint of uncertainty before arriving somewhere or seeing someone for the first time, the pause of do-I-remember-how-this works? and then it eases, and all is well, and I am content.
I picked a time back home where there was no specific work scheduled, but of course, people keep needing things, which is annoying. Or perhaps more annoying is that I can tell they need them, since my iPad works just fine and email comes through. Oh, technology, keeping me tied to obligation.
More soon - mostly it's been old friends and very ordinary experiences that I am thrilled to go through - buying biscuits, riding the underground, looking out the windows of trains, getting a proper calendar in the stationery shop. It's all regular and non-touristy and non-epic and I love it. Hopefully there will be epic things to report soon. I'll try to keep a log.
Yet I miss my husband, and I am here knowing I have been incredibly lucky the past few years, and that being happy here is partly the result of having made some happiness at home, in my actual life, with my lovely husband, who it must be admitted I miss dreadfully. (He was spectacularly supportive about me coming to visit here, then when I booked the ticket he started moaning about how sad and lonely he'd be without me. Awww.)
Also, I think everyone knows now, more or less, but I don't think I've mentioned out loud here that I'm pregnant. Which is exciting, but changes things. It's also why I'm here - it was a pleasure to tell people in person, but more importantly, I can't imagine I'll have an easy time traveling for a few years after the baby comes. In January. Of 2014.
Yep. Gonna have a baby. A life-changing, possibly life-absorbing baby. It seemed a good time to go haring off across the globe and check in with a self I left behind about twelve years ago. And more importantly, with all the folks who are important to me on this side of the pond, not just myself.
It feels very natural to be here, not forced or strained. There's just a hint of uncertainty before arriving somewhere or seeing someone for the first time, the pause of do-I-remember-how-this works? and then it eases, and all is well, and I am content.
I picked a time back home where there was no specific work scheduled, but of course, people keep needing things, which is annoying. Or perhaps more annoying is that I can tell they need them, since my iPad works just fine and email comes through. Oh, technology, keeping me tied to obligation.
More soon - mostly it's been old friends and very ordinary experiences that I am thrilled to go through - buying biscuits, riding the underground, looking out the windows of trains, getting a proper calendar in the stationery shop. It's all regular and non-touristy and non-epic and I love it. Hopefully there will be epic things to report soon. I'll try to keep a log.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Bizarre and no mistake
Well, this has been an odd day, to be sure, spent almost entirely with my mother and managing to fulfill at least some of her wishes. We visited lots of people, although she claims she had about thirteen people she wanted to have over for a luncheon, but couldn't figure out how to invite certain different subsets together - they wouldn't get along, they wouldn't have commonalities. So instead we had lunch with one person (and had invited a second but she couldn't come), went by to visit another person (we'd also spoken to that person's daughter but she wasn't available), and then stopped by yet one last person's house. Strategic road work helped us jettison plans to take one last person home from work. (The one I really wanted to see I called, but she's not well enough for visitors.) So all in all, we dealt with six or seven of the thirteen. I have NO IDEA who the other ones are.
Though I enjoyed seeing these people, they are all sweet ladies that I do adore and was happy to see, I think my mother's assertion that "they want to see you so much!" is false in the extreme. And after today, I feel it would be more accurate to say she just wanted to show me off.
But here's the weird part. I grew up having it drilled into my head that no one wants to hear you talk about yourself. I've internalized this idea to a large extent and while I often run off at the mouth about myself, I always end up feeling guilty and ashamed about it. Yet today my mother actively encouraged me to tell these women about myself. I kept hearing: "Tell her about how big the crew was..." "Tell her about what he said to you about hand modeling..." "Tell her what you thought he said! Oh, this is so funny." It was at odds with this idea that as a well-bred younger person, my job was to ask questions and listen with enthusiasm.
But the conclusion it brings me to is that she is proud of me, and proud of all the things I'm doing, not just the ones I assume she approves of, but also how I struggle to work as an actor and keep working and continue plugging away at the profession. I can hardly believe it, but there's not really any other way I can explain her behavior.
The down side (always a down side, right?) is that she then spent this evening pulling old clothes out of the closet in hopes I would take them home and add them back into my wardrobe. And these are items I don't ever want to see again, much less wear again. Sigh. She always and forever insists on trying to make me dress like a 60+ year old. When I humor her enough to try something on that I know I will abhor, she tries to convince me I really look great in it. I do not. I promise.
But I try to be grateful while firm that some items I simply won't wear, despite the fact wearing them would age me 30+ years instantly. And I try not to be appalled that items I thought I managed to get rid of 15 or more years ago (and will never fit my mother), she's been hanging onto. And just because I explain I don't ever want to wear them again will not inspire her to donate them or throw them away. Siiiggghhh.
Though I enjoyed seeing these people, they are all sweet ladies that I do adore and was happy to see, I think my mother's assertion that "they want to see you so much!" is false in the extreme. And after today, I feel it would be more accurate to say she just wanted to show me off.
But here's the weird part. I grew up having it drilled into my head that no one wants to hear you talk about yourself. I've internalized this idea to a large extent and while I often run off at the mouth about myself, I always end up feeling guilty and ashamed about it. Yet today my mother actively encouraged me to tell these women about myself. I kept hearing: "Tell her about how big the crew was..." "Tell her about what he said to you about hand modeling..." "Tell her what you thought he said! Oh, this is so funny." It was at odds with this idea that as a well-bred younger person, my job was to ask questions and listen with enthusiasm.
But the conclusion it brings me to is that she is proud of me, and proud of all the things I'm doing, not just the ones I assume she approves of, but also how I struggle to work as an actor and keep working and continue plugging away at the profession. I can hardly believe it, but there's not really any other way I can explain her behavior.
The down side (always a down side, right?) is that she then spent this evening pulling old clothes out of the closet in hopes I would take them home and add them back into my wardrobe. And these are items I don't ever want to see again, much less wear again. Sigh. She always and forever insists on trying to make me dress like a 60+ year old. When I humor her enough to try something on that I know I will abhor, she tries to convince me I really look great in it. I do not. I promise.
But I try to be grateful while firm that some items I simply won't wear, despite the fact wearing them would age me 30+ years instantly. And I try not to be appalled that items I thought I managed to get rid of 15 or more years ago (and will never fit my mother), she's been hanging onto. And just because I explain I don't ever want to wear them again will not inspire her to donate them or throw them away. Siiiggghhh.
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