A confession…

I have a confession to make.  I feel unsure about saying this out loud on here – fear of shame and shunning, I guess.  But, this is my little corner, so, here goes it…

We want a girl.

For a firstborn.

My husband, especially, is determined (and very very hopeful) that we have a girl first.  And, for the second, he would like either a girl or boy.

To clarify: we would absolutely be head over heels in love with a son OR daughter.  But, if we had a choice, we would want to have a girl first.

So, is it wrong to try and tip the scales in our favor?

Sometimes sharing is better

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For the first 22 years of my life, I slept alone.

I could stretch myself out, end-to-end, of the queen size bed I received when I was fourteen.

There were no obstacles in my way, except for the occasion stuffed animal, or visiting cousin.

blankets were all mine to hoard; the room temperature mine to control.

And, then I was married.

I remember, that first night in the hotel room, when my brand-new husband fell asleep before I did, thinking about how strange it felt to be sharing a bed with someone – a bed I will now share forever.  I wondered if he would steal my blankets; if he would turn the light off before falling asleep; if we’d sleep cuddled or each on our sides.

I remember wondering, how long till it seemed normal, to be sharing my bed every night – after 8,030 solitary nights.

I remember wondering, if I’d cherish the moments when the bed was all mine, for a single night – where I could sleep on any side of the bed I chose – or spread across all of it.

And, then my husband went away for the first time – for a bachelor party for two nights just a couple of months after we were married.

I jumped into bed – ready to spread myself out – to enjoy the freedom of not sharing a bed – and I was overwhelmed by the emptiness of it. 

What I once cherished – now I despised.  I missed my husband being inches away from me.  I missed his warmth, the sounds of his breathing… I missed sharing my bed, even just for a night or two.

For the first 22 years of my life, I slept alone.

For the last 3 ½ years I’ve shared a bed.

I think I prefer sharing.

The

The What-Ifs

“And we can sell our house and drive down and live in Brazil.  I’ll be Ricardo.  Your name can be… Miranda…” 

I interrupt my husband in the middle of his plan to flee our current life and ask him why his ‘imaginary’ futures never seem to have children in it. 

His response was to ask me why mine never involve just the two of us.  Why I don’t want it to be just him and me?

I was quite effectively silenced (though I’m not sure that was his intent).

It brought to surface one of my greatest fears – making the wrong decision on whether or not to have a child.  Especially because it is mostly my decision – it is something my husband is willing to do because I want it – and not because it’s his lifelong dream to be a father.  I love just the two of us, but I want a baby of our own.  He loves just the two of us but he says he’ll be happy with expanding our little family, if I’m happy.    

But I worry that he’ll resent me for this huge change to our lives.

And, I worry that I’ll be resentful if we don’t make this change.
 

The Ultimatum

The duffel bag spilled clothes onto the floor – still unpacked from the road-trip I had just returned from. 

Books stacked in piles, and there boxes waiting to be filled.  While I had been away my family had already packed most of their own belongings, but my room remained untouched, awaiting my return.  The move was only a week or two away, and there was still so much left to do.

I pushed away the bed, reaching underneath for all the items that were lost under there, shoved into the darkness.

I sifted through papers and photos – of items to keep and throw.  Dozens of photos looked up at me – most of them of me and Georgie.  I lost myself in the sifting. 

The distinctive melody I’d assigned for when Georgie called me blared suddenly, causing me to drop a photo I’d been looking at.  We had just returned from our road-trip yesterday, and I did not expect to hear from her today.  She had been frustrated with me the whole ride home – after I had made the executive decision to cut the trip short by one day.  One measly day – and she was angry. 

I had a whole room to pack.  I didn’t have time for chatting.  But she was supposed to be my best friend.  I shouldn’t ignore her call.

I picked up.  Absent-mindedly I chatted, my attention still mostly focused on packing.  I began to tell her I was busy, that I would call her later, when she asked me about AMP.

I stopped what I was doing, and composed my voice before answering, “Why do you ask Georgie?”

”Well are you dating him or not?  Do you like him?”

She was supposed to be my best friend… but recent lessons had taught me to be a little wary.

She was supposed to be my best friend…but I was keeping a secret from her.

I calmly replied, “I don’t see why we are having this conversation.  Do you like him?”

”No, of course not,” she sputtered indignantly. 

I was losing patience with her obsessive need to control my life.  I took in a deep breath, aiming for a calm but firm tone. 

”Then I fail to see the purpose of this, I’m really busy Georgie.  We just got back from spending every moment together for over two weeks, and now you suddenly call and ask me about him?”

”I need to know,” she replied.  “I can’t be friends with you if you are dating him.”

I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, the frustration.  She was so stubborn, so opinionated – and this was none of her business.  Why should she care?  Part of me ached to hang up, but the curiosity of what ridiculous reasoning she would spout off stopped me.

“Excuse me?  You can’t be friends with me if I date him?  Why the hell not?”

“Because, D.  You just broke up with Bob because you weren’t ready for a relationship.”

”Bob and I broke up almost a year ago.  Who I want to date is my business Georgie.”  My voice was rising.  The frustration built up inside me.  Who did she think she was?  I continued, “I’m an adult – I am capable of making my own decisions.  So, unless you know something about AMP that I don’t, like he’s secretly married, or a murderer or something, I don’t know how my dating him would affect our friendship.”  

“It just will.  I won’t be your friend anymore if you are – that’s my decision and it’s final.”

Those last words pushed me over the edge.  “Well, I don’t want to be friends with someone who gives me ultimatums.” 

And with that phone call, our friendship ended.

This post is written for The Red Dress Club prompt: “ Write about a fight.  Who won?  Why?  What happened? Use emotion.”
As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Sidelines, part I

I have two “sidelines” posts in my drafts – waiting for me to sift through the words and edit them.  While not the same, they are different parts of each other – of my personality.  Here is part one. 

Sidelines, part I

When I was a little kid I used to love being on the sidelines – watching but not actively participating.  It was so easy.  So stress free. 
I knew that if I wanted to, I could jump in anytime.  But, I was content where I was. 

I was content. 

I realize lately that being on the sidelines requires a lot of waiting around, a lot of patience.  Patience is a quality I already have in short supply.  I don’t know when I started to become less patient; perhaps with the onset of adolescence?  It seems like around then I had lost my patience, and gained envy.

I found cards my ex wrote me.  I was 17 at the time and a couple of the cards made reference to my lack of patience, where he decided to remind me that ‘patience is a virtue.’  Even though his next sentence was, “I know how much you hate that saying.”  Guess I don’t need reminders of why I dumped him…

Anyways, back to the topic at hand…

When I realized that I couldn’t jump in anytime, I started to hate the sidelines, and became envious – envious of ones in relationships, envious of friends and cousins getting engaged and getting married.  Five cousins got married before me, two of them younger than me.  When AMP and I were dating, we were ones of the last in our social group to get married, though we were older and in some cases, together longer.  

And, I began to feel the pangs of impatience and envy.

Then we got married, and all was right in the world. 

Right?

No, because then came babies.

And, for a while I was content to sit on the sidelines.  I didn’t even think I wanted a kid at all. 

And then, Mini-Principessa was born. 

And, I fell in love, hard.  I wanted my own little one.  I wanted to be a mommy.  I wanted to see AMP and myself in our own little person we could raise and love.

But, I couldn’t just jump in. 

Because, it’s not all about me; it’s not just my decision because it will change both our lives dramatically. 

So, I’m on the sidelines…waiting.  And everyday I hear of someone else getting pregnant.  And I’m jealous and envious over here on the sidelines. 

Waiting.  Waiting for when I can jump in and join.

I’m not good at waiting.

And, I still hate being told ‘Patience is a virtue.’ 

Careful what you ask…

Me:          “Babe, what is one thing I do that drives you crazy?”

from www.psychologytoday.com

AMP:        “Um…nothing.”

Me:          “No, really… What do I do that drives you crazy?”

AMP:       “Nothing, you are perfect.”  He says this with complete sincerity – a testament to 3 year of training marriage.

Me:                “Seriously, it’s one of the Writing Workshop prompts for this week so I need you to tell me what I do that drives you crazy so I know what to write about.”

AMP:       “You don’t do anything to drive me crazy.  You are amazing.”

Exasperated sigh on my end, but I decide not to push it.  A few minutes later…

AMP:       “You could write about how it drives me crazy how you can’t sleep with the light on, so I can’t read at night.”

Me:          “There you go, I told you that you could come up with one thing!”

AMP:       “Or how it drives me crazy that you leave your basket of shampoos and stuff in the shower.”

Me:                “Um…ok.”

AMP:       “Or how it drives me crazy that your clothes are all over the floor and all over the dresser.  Or how you sleep-in all the time.”

Me:      “I think I liked your original answer best.”

What would it take..?

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I’m addicted to the Home & Garden Network.  I watch more than just the decorating shows… my favorites are really those shows where other people are looking to buy a home, and I get to peek in at what homes look like in different cities, and how much they cost.  In some places the house prices are ridiculously low – at least compared to where I live.

So, I fantasize about moving to those places – to owning a ‘dream’ home with a much smaller mortgage than we currently are straddled with.

I think if I picked a place and told AMP that I wanted to move there, and could find us jobs, he’d do it.  In a heartbeat.  Well, as long as it was finacially feasible, after all I’m married to an accountant.

I, on the other hand, prefer to fantasize.  Because, push come to shove it would take a whole hell of a lot to make me move… like the ability to move my entire family (or at least the members I like), definitely my nieces, and my best friends.  Or, in lieu of that, to own a private jet that would cost me nothing to travel back and forth at a moment’s notice.

As much as my family may drive me crazy, I could not imagine living far away from them.  I like how I can just ‘drop by’ and have lunch with one of my aunts.  I love the afternoons spent at my parents place.  I love coffee dates with cousins.  Or girl’s nights with friends I’ve known since I was 8.

I don’t like change.  I’m not good at meeting new people and making new friends – hence why my strongest friendships are with people I’ve known forever.   

Which means my options are:
a) Convince all my family to move with me to wherever I decide
b) Find someone to gift me a private jet, plus pay all related costs
c) Stay here, and just live vicariously through my shows

I think I’m going to be here a while…

 

This post inspired by Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop: What would it take for you to pick up and move?  Go visit and read some amazing posts. :)

 

Lifeline

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Struggling against the current
Sputtering at the service
Gasping for breath
Searching blindly for a lifeline
And I found you.

Before

Before I got married, I had these ideas.  I had ideas of what married life would be life.  I had ideas of how I would be as a wife.  I had ideas of how we would be as a couple.

Before I got married, I thought we would sleep every night cuddled up – like you see on the movies, or on mattress commercials.  I thought we’d fall asleep each night spooning, and wake up in each other’s arms.

On our wedding night, I realized that sleeping close to a person is not my thing.  I can remain cuddled up to AMP for about ten seconds before I need to shift around or flip my pillow over to the cold side.  I drive the poor man crazy.  In the 3 years we’ve been married, I’ve only managed to fall asleep cuddled to him and wake up that way twice, both occasions being mid-afternoon naps…

Before I got married, I thought I could handle being a great housewife.  That I would have a cleaning schedule that I would stick to, that I would learn to cook fabulous, well planned meals.  That I could become a morning person like AMP.

In the first year of marriage, I realized that I suck at domesticity.  Although I’m decent at cleaning, I can’t stick to a schedule and am always having to do major clean ups as I’ve left things around me to fall into complete disarray.  I realized that cooking is not my area of expertise, at all.  I realized that for me being a morning person is impossible.  That I need 2 to 3 hours of sleep more a night than AMP – and waking up is never something I’ll do ‘gracefully.’

Before I got married, I thought we’d be the couple who got up together every morning and had breakfast together.  I thought we’d be the couple who ate dinner sitting at the table.  I thought we’d be the couple who did everything together and exuded love and happiness.

In our three years of marriage, I realized that having breakfast together every morning requires me giving up sleep that I desperately need.  So we have breakfast together most weekends, but never during the week.    We eat dinner while watching television.  And, while we do a lot together, we definitely don’t do everything together.   

Before I got married, I thought marriage should be a certain way.

In three years I realized everyone’s marriage is different… and what we have works for us. 

Before I got married, I thought I would never love AMP more than I already did.

In three years I’ve realized that I fall a bit more in love with him every day.

A leap year issue..

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I let AMP pick our wedding date.

It seemed like a good idea at the time… He can be a little on the forgetful side, so I thought that maybe if he picked the date, he would be less likely to forget it.  So, he spent some time thinking about it, and calculating a date that would not interfere with Super Bowl or other ‘important’ dates.  And, he presented me with March 1^st as our wedding date.

Perfect.

Except, for the fact that we got married on the leap year.

And that my lovely husband is a geek… (in the nicest way of course!)

So, for the past 3 years we’ve argued every year.

Me on March 1^st : “Happy anniversary babe!”

Him on March 1^st : “It’s not our anniversary today.  Our anniversary is tomorrow.”

Me: “No, it’s today.  It’s March 1^st.”

Him: “No, our anniversary is two days after February 28^th.  That’s tomorrow.”

Which leads me to argue and stomp my feet at his stubbornness, and this year to pull out our marriage certificate to show him that we are indeed married on March 1^st.  His response?

Him on March 2^nd : “Happy anniversary babe!”

I’m looking forward to next year, where we’ll actually be celebrating on the same day…

 

This post inspired by Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop about a pet peeve… ;)