I went out around 9 PM to meet Lana. Yes, Lana, of kleenex-up-the-sleeve fame. She had a book for me and I some topical anesthetic cream for her, for making bikini waxing slightly more bearable. We met at a local Starbucks and bought a couple of drinks 'to go' so we could walk around the hood. There was still a hot wind leftover from the day, but with the sun down it no longer felt oppressive. Lana stopped, mid-conversation, in front of a bench outside a french bistro.
"You wanna sit?"
"Yeah, sure."
We continued to discuss how Evan (our old roommate and good friend) never wants to leave the house anymore, ever since he moved to the 'burbs.
"He spends all his free time perfecting that little patch of grass", I laughed.
It must be some animalistic instinct, I thought to myself. Like how dogs kick up dirt after they do their business.
There was a lull in the conversation. I watched people in the restaurant talking with their hands, drinking wine, laughing.
The air felt heavy suddenly and there was a flash of lightning off in the distance.
"I have something to show you", Lana said, while she searched in her purse. She pulled out a card and she handed it to me.
The card read, "Fetal Assessment Centre".
I looked at her, confused. It took me a moment to understand.
Inside was her baby-to-be's first photo - 11 weeks gestation.
***
And there we have it - my three best friends.
Pregnant.
All due within two weeks of each other.
A fourth friend had a baby yesterday.
A fifth is still trying.
A sixth and a seventh are each getting married this month.
Of course I wish all of my friends happiness. I wish the whole world happiness too. And peace and love and health. But I can barely get out of bed lately. I just don't know what to do. Literally. I feel like this is a test. Or maybe a cruel joke.
I give to charity, I do volunteer work, I've cared for very sick children, and I've been there for every one of my friends in any of their times of need. So why? Why not me? Why would the most basic human functions evade me? I know everyone says, if you stop looking for it, it will come, but until I turned 30 I never looked for it. Ever! I just knew one day it would happen, but it hasn't, and I don't want to continue living this little life of mine the way it is - as a good little nurse, doing all the right things, never irresponsible, making sure to eat right, exercise, look nice, don't smoke, be polite, don't sleep around too much, don't drink too much, don't ruffle feathers too much. Just go through the fucking motions every day, waiting.
It's too much.
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2 comments:
those fucking sonograms...i've never been able to tell who's who and what's what. mine looked like aliens. to this day i never saw the "three lines" that indicated they were girls.
"perfecting the patch of grass" is pretty much what all suburban robots do.
but...your dog throwing dirt analogy sort of goes against that. which is it? dog throws dirt, or dog obsesses over the perfection of fescue grass?
there isn't much to say to the real issue of this post. except i wish we were all re-wired differently; so many people i know have stressed out over the baby issue--only to finally have one, and realize how incredibly difficult and stressful it is to raise one--and then they got depressed about losing their former life and living and breathing nothing but Baby. 24/7 for years.
that fescue patch of grass is always greener. my idea: start drinking heavily. all the time. and medicate every chance you get.
The point of the analogy was that humans slaving over their patch of grass is just as much a basic animal instinct as a dog trying to unavailingly cover up their shit. This also parallels the drive to find a partner and have a baby. All pathetic in their own ways.
I may have a somewhat romantic notion of having children (and a husband, for that matter), but I am aware it won't bring ultimate happiness. Maybe some people can be just plain happy all the time, but I know that it isn't in me. I feel everything. Still, I want to have those experiences. I'll take the good and the bad.
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