Putting the "MO" in MOFO since 2004

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Sunday, May 27, 2007

 
It's 4 a.m... Can't breathe normally. Playing solitaire until the storm in my head blows over. Maggie turns on all the lights in the house (practically) 2 or 3 times a night. This wakes me up, but not really, because if it wasn't for that would just have to pee anyways. Getting kicked from the inside by this little boy. Thinking about the second thoughts I am having about the new job that I wanted so badly. No maternity leave. That risk seems a lot more huge now that I am feeling the weight of the pregnancy and the fatigue. The fear of a new job. What if I don't do well? What if I am too tired to function? What if I go a little bit crazy after the birth of this little boy like I did last time? The safety of a place I dislike seems preferable to the big bad unknown. For which I have not tenure or paid leave. So. Here I am, thinking I may ask them to wait until the next position opens up. After I assured them that I was okay with that risk. I just wanted to win. Now I am freaked and scared and anxious. Not good. Also doing just fine where I am... except for the hating it sometimes..

I have been dreaming of ex boyfriends - I always do when I am pregnant. Don't know why. Perhaps I am trying to bulldoze unresolved issues from my subconscious to get ready for the new arrival and new change. Getting angry about stuff that happened 12 years ago. Lies and bad behavior and the shame of being the last to know. And wondering why I spent so much time mourning a person who had proven themselves to be of so little value or real worth to me. It was perhaps, more that it was so shocking to my system that someone could take me down emotionally so completely. That someone's carelessness had made me wither from the inside out. But that was more than one person. It was about much more than that. That was me being drowned out by things and by people and by life.

I was thinking about moving out of my parents house for the first time. Into the sorority which I paid for myself (which I was later kicked out of because I couldn't afford it). On the day I moved, my parents weren't around to help. No plans. No worries. I don't even think they had arranged for a car for me. A really nice guy named Rob who I was seeing helped me. Rob, who I eventually stopped calling with no explanation. Rob who sent me romantic letters reminding me of the time we spent together in Madison sitting by the lake for hours, until the sun came up. He was so sweet, and I was such an asshole. But even then, I thought it was strange that my parents didn't help me move. It was an afterthought of course, like "maybe we should have helped you" was uttered at some point. But the damage was done. Walking into the sorority with a large comforter and the anxiety, cold in the pit of my stomach. Seeing all the other girls with their doting parents, who cared enough to ask about what kind of food we would be fed, worrying about the likes and dislikes of their daughters, and feeling that familiar feeling of "other" ness. Being on the outside, looking at the way normal people acted. Normal people who mattered to their families. Years later, my parents made a big production of moving my younger sisters into their dorms. That they paid for. And then later, into the house she rented with friends. That they paid for. And wondered why I was never worth the time or money or energy that they were.

Someday I hope to recover from the atrocities of my youth. I write that with the sense of humor of someone who does understand their own profound ability to wallow shamelessly. I also know, I will never. Ever. Do that to my children.

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