Take me to your leader

My guts are going to pop out anytime now - Alien style.

For Amber Waves of Guilt

If there is anything I can't stand it's asking someone to do a task for me that I am normally responsible for - even if I don't get it done in someone else's time frame or to their satisfaction, I still have a responsibility to do it. And I've slipped a bit during my "confinement" ( I just love that 16th century word) due to my body's response to this pregnancy, not my brain's.

With Gary working so much, like 2 jobs, and missing a lot of hours transporting me to Dr. appointments, attending doula appointments, birthing classes, church duties, doing finances, - I have this raging guilt that something like household management has gone out the window. It isn't for Gary's lack of trying - he has been doing an excellent job with what he has time for and without complaint. I seriously mean that. But it's killing me to have to ask for help with jobs that are more of a time imposition for him; jobs that are in of themselves time consuming and a real drag. Saying the words "I can't do it" just isn't easy. I slipped into a guilt funk the other day and with a good, long cry I hope I've admonished the urge to do something as nonsensical as risk my health just to do laundry. I have, in the past, seriously tried to summon a laundry genie to take over the duty so what's my problem?!

My problem is that my end of the marriage bargain is changing and I am lost like a fart in a whirlwind. I can't ask him to do any more for me. Gestation shouldn't be a full time job but, in my case, it now takes up my whole day. It has taken me 2 weeks to fully rest - from work duties, from swiffering the floors, from doing just one load of laundry, from just cleaning the bathroom this one time, from decatfurring the couch. And I normally do not keep a spotless house!? Seriously, there are small pockets of chaos that make our house comfy for us but a dirty bathroom or unchanged sheets isn't one of them.

Luckily, checking my social sites is considered resting :D and I've never wished so bad for a laptop - even a decrepit one!

So, what will I be doing after this munchkin is born? I can't even venture to answer. But I do see a serious, and maybe a little painful, restructure of our household. This is one of those things that you rationally know but you don't really KNOW until the day you go " Oh, yeah...." and crinkle your nose up. But we have to do it, just like everyone else in the world that we originally thought we would never be like HA!

But in the meantime, "Be the queen you are" is how my Dr. put bed rest. That's just not me since I think I have to earn what I get; nothing comes to me without work or management or SOMEthing. I'd make a terrible Queen and will always be a worker bee.

Gooder than...

Here's something you don't hear everyday when you just ask a stranger how they are doing:
"Better than snuff and gooder than taters." OR "Better than snuff and a third less dusty."

WHAT??
Not to be judgmental or anything but I'm not sure the speaker would even know what a third of anything is much less taking a mental measure of their snuff dust and calculating a fraction of it.
And what is snuff dust? I guess I don't know what snuff even is so I'll wikipedia it in a minute. I just know that stuffy, entitled ladies take a little and try to be all sly about getting a buzz like they are somehow immune to the temptation of a short lived high. At least they do on Andy Griffith.

But it must be just ok if there is a phrase that has a snuff user as a reference point for feeling good. Society has gravitated from any discretion and instead choose a more balls out high, you know, like meth. "My teeth fell outta my head but dang I feel great!"

I only meet the occasional pot head now but that's about the simplest drug form I can think of that is classified as a "drug". Sure kids drink cough syrup or huff on glue ( shoot, I'll take a wiff of a Sharpie when it opens) but real drugs seem to have an exposure hierarchy with pot at the bottom tier. Unless, I've been out of the loop for a while a kids go straight for hard dope.

My BFF and I were talking today about some of the things we lived through during our almost 20 years as constants and the drug topic has us the most amazed. We hung out with some pretty seedy (i don't even know another word for some of them) but good hearted folks, back in the day, and participated in many a premeditated nogoodness but when hard drugs came into the group, looking back, I am kinda proud of us. We would just look around, find each other's face and know to leave - automatic, no regrets about being uncool. I always had the thought that I had too much to lose, even if I didn't know what it was yet. I don't remember exactly what she was thinking but it must have been similar. We just left and found some other haunt to occupy where the company was as divey as we were ;D The song " Friends in Low Places" is coming to mind. There are many a good folk and comraderie in low places. And you don't really have to have low standards, well, ok, yeah ya do. You just know not to wear your best shoes and hover when you use the ladies (nevermind that mustache) room.
Even now I can feel a bit uncomfortable in posh atmospheres if I'm not in the right mood - gimme a beer, a bowl of stale chips and a wood floor and I'm fine...

Anti Spring Chickens UNITE!

Now that I have all the time in the world I have no excuse not to blog; other than sitting makes my back hurt and I kind of cringe at the thought of having to sit here in my substandard chairs to write. Really I have very few complaints about being pregnant but the few are big and obnoxious and make a difference to my standard of comfort.

Creating a human is not for wussies just like raising said human is not for the faint of heart. Here towards the end I have made a homemade body oil to help with dry skin, the main oil being olive oil. I grease my belly up and smell like a gourmet tapenade. I bet if I walked downtown all the Italians would turn and look seductively my way (like we have so many in Nashville!). Now that I think of it, I wish we had sections of town like Chinatown or Little Italy – I miss that about Florida and loved it about NYC. I could buy all the fake bags and amazing risotto I wanted! Stereotypes exist for a reason, right?
I’ve totally digressed from the topic here… I’ll risk smelling bad or being an Italian Pied Piper to not get stretch marks. Not a problem!

Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, getting tangled in blankets when I sleep. Poor Gary wakes up with a cold butt pretty often because I’ve gotten my legs all discombobulated and I can’t escape! I have to elevate my top half cuz I’m breathing heartburn fire, try to stay on my left side AND roll over countless times a night. Puleez. Just get your own covers cuz I’m trapped in a cotton octopus over here.

I’m pretty excited now though – we have maybe 7 weeks left. We have the necessities and are physically ready for this little thing to appear. My doctor is hoping he/she will be ready sooner and is limiting my activities so you may notice a pychosis creep into my blogs as my brain gets bored and atrophies. Gary grows ‘em big and apparently my frame is small. I don’t ever feel small but she’s said it over and over…whatever. But some days I don’t feel so good and can be a bit anemic. I actually have to remember that I’m 36 now and like Aunt Bee said “No spring chicken anymore”.

My BFF and I have decided to be the Anti Spring Chickens. She will always be a cougar though which makes me realize the danger of my situation!

And you cannot handle...Pressure!

Two life altering events for anyone are getting married and having kids and boy, if you want to hear people's opinions on what you should be doing...do either of these. I catch myself doing it too but sharing experiences is how we relate to each other. This is an ancient human tendancy and one that, for the most part, I love about us. Until.....the person telling the experience crosses into persuasive mode and the listener is really expected to act as the teller.

This is why I flew to Vegas to get married. Yes, it was a second marriage and doesn't seem to carry as much street cred to persuaders, but a wedding nonetheless. Now, 6 years later, I feel it again. A tiny spark of apology for what I want to do if it flies in the face of convention.

Don't get me wrong here; my perception is not that I am always misunderstood. We never really know how people see us, they don't tell you every other day. But when I examine my motivations for my actions (which sounds like I just sit around and think about myself - but who else can I analyze and change!) and then my perception of how others view those actions, I remember phrases or comments that others say and it makes me a bit anxious.

I have family that still think I get tattoos at 35 to defy my parents. Really now. Have you ever spoken with me? And sometimes I'm not that good at getting my point across either so whose to say that what they think isn't my fault? People asked my why I skated on a roller derby league and I'm sure my real motivations didn't come through. Or get my motorcycle license. A lady at church told me to grow up with that one...and that kinda hurt actually. I'm really not the show off that I'm feeling is coming through by what I do in my life. I have goals and challenges to overcome, that's it!

And why does the pressure to conform to surrounding standards still exist even at my age?! I naively thought that it would pass when I gained some credibility based on my decisions and actions. I'm seeing that conformity is a constant force for everyone. We do it to a certain degree, tangent off to what we want to do for a while, then come back hopefully before someone notices we've been gone and we don't look weird or something. Thus, staying nicely moderate.

All this babbling has been prompted by my pregnancy (well, not all, I've thought about it before). Birth stories are extremely personal and an extensive network of female identity. That's why everyone wants to tell you theirs, mostly unsolicited, and no nightmare spared. Nothing says welcome to the club like stories of epidurals gone wrong or butchery "down there" but how it's all worth it in the end. I was privledged enough to attend and help with the birth of a super good friend's baby, Camren, and it was spectacular, beautiful and enlightening. Can you see my confused face?

My birth plan will be different, and there is my spark of apology. I surprised myself by sounding apologetic when telling my OB and Gary, the 2 people that shouldn't judge this whole process! I received reassurance that I'm not just trying hard to be different and I am forever grateful. My plan is that I will let go and trust my body and God. HE made this experience and it's up to me to let HIM do his job. No fear of pain. And certainly no defiance.

The Real Auld Lang's Ayne

And I can't spell or understand why it's not Old Lang Sign.
It's New Years Eve. I'm going to be sleeping at the stroke of midnight but this night has become increasingly boring in the past few years. I think more about how long into 2009 I will write 2008 on stuff. I'm thinking by my birthday I'll get it..and that is in March, folks.

I'm getting more disillusioned by the holidays every year and NOT because I don't like to buy gifts or I'm just being a bastard. The greed and expectations become overwhelming. Adults ( well, me) stress over the perfect gift for someone that genuinely expects you/me to fill a part of them that is lacking with a trinket instead of looking inward to the real cause of their emptiness. And I watched, for 2 days, kids open gifts only to be completely overwhelmed and exhausted while they were passed more boxes. This kind of gift giving not only takes away from the spirituality that we express in the faded plastic nativity scene in our yards but doesn't give the giver or the receiver joy. Where is the joy?

My joy came this year by disappointing everyone. I donated money to charity in honor of my family members and printed certificates that listed where the money went and how it will be used 100%. I tailored the charity to the recipient based on how I know them. Animal lovers, cancer survivors, etc. I've have only heard back from one recipient and it was only in passing as he asked about whether I sent him a big Ghiridelli chocolate gift basket. No, I didn't send a damn luxury food basket but thanks for acknowledging that your gift helped saved 20 animals in a shelter. Yeah me.

I take that back. My best friend gets me and I'm continually amazed that we do not have to speak to get the message across. She gave me joy.

So, it appears that I'm expecting something too, right? I'm expecting acknowledgment for doing something different. For trying to bring contentment or meaning back to a spiritual holiday. Both for myself and for them. But there are endless possibilities to someone's definition of holidays so I can't be bold enough to say that anything I think is right. But this is just what I'm feeling more and more. What's really sad is that I begin to shut down just after Thanksgiving as I try to dam the pressure of what I should be doing verses doing what is motivated by my emotions. Sappy, isn't it?

By Oct, it's splattered all over TV about the spirit of the holidays...globally what I see is a market/media driven spirit of buying and desperation. Filling emotional voids with material junk. If I look close I will see great spirits and acts of unimaginable kindness, and these are small feats that have intention behind them not tokens bought out of obligation. Let me see and do more of these. Do little things for others, give to what is truly lacking in someone's life. Something deeper like actions. Nursing homes are a great place to start if you don't know what people need. It smacks you in the face when you walk in the door.

Whoever is reading this - if I never buy you anything, please do not be offended. I probably just want to be with you more than anything at special times. No gifts. I am inadequate with still so much to learn and apply in life; and can never predict what people around me really need but I can guarantee that it can't be bought. I can't end this without the disclaimer that my thoughts apply to me too - don't vie for the best material thing under the tree. Be a presence instead of more presents.

Old Lang Syne

There are a few songs that I really do love but can’t listen to. Conjuring up memories isn’t something that is too hard for me to do but when a poignant song phrase sticks that memory through your heart… I can’t believe that I’d be the only one that will turn down the volume till the moment passes. But isn’t that what makes a great song?

It happened again this morning. Hubby likes softer music than I do and bought a soft little Christmas CD, luckily I’m not tortured with Bruce Springsteen or Mariah Carey, but it’s a short list of mostly songs I haven’t heard. I just don’t want to hear the same songs by 451 different singers. But anyway...

One of hubby’s favorites is Dan Fogelberg’s Same Old Lang Syne - we’ve listened to it for years and almost know it by the first note. I try not to drift off into the past when I hear it but this morning I couldn’t help it – I went back to memories I hadn’t thought of in years. And it got me to thinking about ex’s. Another reason why I went there was that I recently reconnected with folks on Facebook from middle school and early high school – just old friends. We’re catching each other up so old memories are coming back easily.

Going back to ex’s though. Listening to the song he is trying to connect with her in some way – he mentions reaching beyond emptiness. There isn’t anything left of their relationship. But why does he care? The same reason I care about my ex’s – because they are still good people despite the situation. My situation with them is just a small portion of their lives and they go on to be whoever they’re going to be. Why do I feel compelled to find out who they become later? It just fascinates me and I don’t have much fear about contacting them if I happen to run across them; but I’ve been shot down by ones that could care less who I became. And that’s ok too.

I wonder if the honesty that they were having in this brief encounter would have saved the relationship had they done it in the past? Are they questioning this?

At the end the song he goes back to the real memory, being back at school, but he goes back to pain. I am surprised but hurt makes holes in your heart, some just stay tiny and hidden. Another example of never knowing the impression we make on a person. I have those holes and I know who they are but I believe they became better people than who they were when I left them.

I can’t drink a toast to innocence; I have too many regrets from it. But getting closure on those little pains by reconciling with past loves does feel good. Can’t say I’ve ever had a metaphor quite like a change in the weather though.