Maternal Instincts

I get this sick feeling in my stomach whenever I hear that someone I know is pregnant/ had a baby.  In the past year 7 people I know have had babies- and I don’t know why but I almost get pissed about it!  The same thing happens when I meet the babies, an ill feeling followed by guilt and discomfort.  Can an antacid cure that…?

I’ve always been that way, I remember when my cousin had a baby when I was around 10 or so, and while we were visiting her parents I went to spend the night at her house with her and her new baby.  It was awful!  I hate the sound of lullabies, and she breast fed in front of me which I also found disturbing- I just remember hearing that sucking sound with rock-a-bye baby playing in the background.  I remember eventually having a breakdown saying I missed my mom and wanted to go home, I did NOT want to sleep over.  I don’t remember if my mom came to get me or if I stayed but ever since then I get the same feeling whenever I’m around a pregnant person or find out someone I know/knew is having a baby.

Two years ago I became friends with a girl who was pregnant when we met, and she was fun to hang out with when she was pregnant- she was really funny and goofy, I think it was the pregnancy hormones or something because she was just so fucking hilarious.  Then the baby came and she was so cute and I loved her but I was just generally uncomfortable being around them and dealing with all the baby stuff- and she also breast fed in front of me all the time!  Why!?  Isn’t that personal?  What do I have to do with it- I should have no involvement in that bonding time.  We eventually lost touch because she drove me nuts (the mom, not the baby) with all the stressful baby visits.  She would bring her infant over to my house and stay for like, eight hours.  I’m not kidding.  That is too long to have a baby and your milk-boobs around me, I’m sorry.

Then I found out that I friend I had lost touch with after college had a baby, and was weirded out then too.  Then a girl from high school I kind of knew, then a cousin, then another cousin!, then my husband’s cousin, and now I just found out that a friend from high school had a baby in November. 

So I have to visit these people (especially the cousins), and they make me hold their babies even though I tell them I don’t want to because I make them cry.  Then they force me to anyway and, right on cue, the baby senses my disgust and starts bawling.  Then we have to visit and stare at the baby while he or she does whatever it is that is so entertaining (they’re cute and all but a month old baby doesn’t really have the same entertainment abilities as someone who can talk and use the potty), and then I leave and have to deal with this sick feeling for the rest of the night.

I don’t know why babies and people who have them weird me out so much, but there is nothing that makes me more uncomfortable than baby supplies, people who think all I want to hear about and/or see is breastfeeding, stomach-touching, and the baby smell.  Maybe it’s because people change so much after they become parents, or maybe because the whole sentimental part disturbs me (just like any other kind of sentimental moment).

I feel like a monster for feeling like this!  I’m a woman so I should automatically be a baby lover right?  Well newsflash, I’m sorry but I don’t want to hear about your udders, and I don’t want to hold your baby.  Congratulations but just let me sit there quietly while everyone else fusses, I feel ill.

I would probably like to have kids some day, and I wont be afraid to hold my own baby I’m sure, but at this point in my life I honestly want nothing to do with babies- almost like I’m afraid I’m going to ‘catch it’ or something, I don’t know.  I can’t help it, I’m not impressed that women are doing what women have been doing since the beginning of time, and I am really not interested in having people breastfeed in front of me, I don’t care if you have a blanket over yourself, I can still hear it!  Give me a warning and I will leave, you stay there and do your thing.

So my apologies to all you new parents out there, I can’t help the way I feel- which is grossed out.  Maybe I’m immature, maybe I have some kind of emotional issue (what else is new!), or maybe I just don’t like breastfeeding.  I haven’t figured it out yet but until I do would you please just treat me like a teenage boy and not expose me to that kind of thing.

Thank you.

My Husband is an Asshole, Winter Sports

I love my husband, but he is an asshole too.  He is an asshole because he knows everything and is good at everything. 

Yes, I did know that:

Whenever I try and share something with him- like what a baby platypus is called (a puggle), the latest US political blunder, where the term “sell someone down the river” comes from- in any subject, about anything, he already knows.  

Sometimes I ask him questions just to see if he knows the answer- stupid questions that I just think up to test him, I really don’t need to know the answer- he knows the answer every time.  Most people would be impressed with his intellect, but I think he’s an asshole. 

Lately he can tell that I find it annoying (because, believe it or not, I’m quite vocal about things that bother me) and now before he says his usual yes, I did know that he gets an impish grin on his face, does a little jig, and then gleefully informs me that he was already aware of the information I wanted to share with him- actually, he did a report on it- and a field study- and published a book about it when he was 7.

Yes, my family knows that too:

Not only is he a walking encyclopedia, he’s also good at everything.  Any sport you can think of he can probably play better than you.  He could also outrun you, out weight lift you, jump higher, score more goals, and look better in his workout clothes than you ever could.  He sits around smoking pot and mainlining sugar ALL day, and then when I want to go for a jog or something he prances along the sidewalk like an elegant, stoned, white-tailed deer and chit chats about ho-hum things while I wheez and spit and get stomach cramps and eventually have to turn around after 20 minutes of near death cardiovascular torture.

I hate this constant mental and physical one-upping that I feel occurs no matter what I do between my husband and I.  It’s not serious, but it drives me crazy!  I’ve always held my own with mental and physical capabilities, but he blows any of my pre-existing knowledge and/ or physical prowress out of the water, and it really jacks my ego.

Merry Christmas, here’s a concussion:

This Christmas, I had the pleasure of being surrounded by this constant ego-checking.  His whole asshole family is good at everything and knows everything!  I’m pretty sure they have read every article ever published about anything between the 6 of them, and they are all athletic powerhouses.  They suck, and usually I’m the ‘in-shape one’, and for a brief time in elementary school I was even the ’smart one.’  So being surrounded with a bunch of geniuses in track pants for two weeks made me feel like a brain dead fat thigh.

THEN… I get the pleasure of skiing with my husband and his Dad.  In the Rocky Mountains.  Now I have been skiing once before, in Wisconsin when I was 14.  I thought I was good- but in case you don’t know- Wisconsin is not exactly known for it’s superior ski “hills.”  So after getting dressed up in a grab bag collection of old ski clothes donated to me by his sister, my husband dresses me up like a half rotten banana- yellow coat, black snowpants that are too big for me, and stupid mittens.  I hate mittens, but I have no option.

We arrive at the ski hill, I think the climb up to the parking lot is steeper than the last ski hill I was on.  We get our skis, mine barely come up to my chin because I marked “beginner” on the rental form- so they gave me the shortest skis possible, the only thing missing was a helmet and a bright orange “I don’t know how to stop” flag:

So, fully equipped and now fully terrified, I board the ski lift with my husband and father-in-law.  They briefly tell me what to focus on but spend the rest of the horrifying ride up the hill talking about articles they read.  We hop off the ski lift and I immediately fall to my knees and slowly tumble down the small dismount hill and halt at the large wooden map posted next to the skidoo ambulance thing.   Just take me now, medic!

After my husband picks me up we head towards one of the green hills, I was scared but I was doing really well!  I was doing the zig zag thing on my skis, and Husband and Father- In-Law were impressed.  I was happy. 

Then we go down a second time, I fall and lose a ski… Father-in-Law says he’ll meet us at the bottom, and husband decides now would be a good time to ski into the woods to pee.  I am left alone on this stupid fucking hill with one ski on, one off.  I try to get my ski back on myself, but fail since the hill is so steep and my legs are shaking like a new born foal’s.  I almost get my stupid foot into the stupid ski but then lose my balance and slowly start sliding backwards down the ski hill on my stomach, desperately gripping the powdery snow with my stupid mittens and mumbling “Dick” “Asshole” and “Mother Fucker” through my gritted teeth- then, speak of the devil, hubby emerges and seems surprised that I’m laying on my stomach hanging onto the hill still with only one ski on.  I begin to cry because I’m mad- which is the worst type of cry!!

I get my ski back on, finally, and we continue down the hill.  I have lost my nerve because I am so mad and embarrassed.  My husband suggests going down the long green hill, for a nice scenic and easy ski that will take a while; I agree.  We start going down and my husband, of course, pulls a joint out of his pocket.  He asks if I want to smoke it and I decline because, unless the snow needs to be eaten, me getting high on skis could benefit no one.  So we continue our decent, me trying to keep up my turning on stiff and shaky legs, my asshole husband lazily gliding down, both poles in one hand, joint in the other.  Who the fuck smokes a joint while they’re downhill skiing??!?  What an asshole. 

Then I fall, hard and fast, down a steep part.  I hit my head, lose both skis, and my spirit is officially broken.  I don’t want to ski anymore, my head hurts, and I fucking hate it when I’m bad at something.  So after being scared and crying once again, like a big baby on short skis, we continue to head downhill, I make it to the end slowly but surely, and after rolling very ungracefully down the front face of the hill where every skier has to join together as they head towards the main lift, I make it to the bottom.  We all have lunch together, and I graciously offer to hang out with the emo snowboarders and sip coffee while husband and father-in-law go enjoy themselves on some black diamonds.  In my head this offer sounded more like “how about the two of you ski bunnies go fuck off while I sit here and nurse my busted head and try to mentally will someone to offer my a cigarette.”

So that was my Christmas ski outing in the BC Rockies.  It was a massive failure in my eyes, and all I really remember about it is flying skis, my husband smoking a joint as I cling to life, and a mental note to bring cigarettes next time.

Ice Skating Sucked Too:

A similar incident happened a few days earlier when my husband thought it would be cute to take me ice skating for the first time.  That ended very quickly, and I will never do it again.  Immediately after lacing up my skates for me my husband leaves towards the rink, leaving me there!  I try to take a step forward (I was standing in snow on skates) and immediately slip and fall ankles up onto my back- coming very close to slicing a toddler who was getting ready on the bench next to me.  Husband laughs, thought I was capable of walking on my skates.  Asshole.  We start to skate and I am pretty sure ice skating is the most boring thing ever. 

Whee, I get to practice my death grip on my husband’s arm while using muscles in my feet to grip a piece of sharpened metal that is 1/8 of an inch thick, and all while shitty little kids amuse themselves by shooting hockey pucks in between my non-bending legs. 

Fin.

And that’s it for winter sports that I had the privilege of trying while visiting BC for the holidays.  After all that I was walking with a limp, and seriously damaged psychologically.  And that is why my husband is an asshole, because he is good at everything and so is his family, and when I am around them I feel like an absent-minded, inbred, golden retriever with three legs.

Disclaimer:  I can’t believe I even have to write this- but have gotten a couple weird comments- so I would just like to remind everyone that I love my husband very much, and when I call him an “asshole” it’s nothing serious, it’s just joking around!  Geez people.

The Ultimate Stupid Question

Stupid Questions!

Everyone asks stupid questions sometimes, maybe they just want to hear themselves talk.  Maybe they didn’t think before they asked.  Maybe they’re just plain dumb.

I hear a lot of stupid questions throughout my day, but my FAVORITE stupid question of them all is the one I will be focusing on.  So bear with me, it will take a little background information….

First you should know, I have a younger brother (my only sibling if you don’t count my dog-sisters) and along with many other unique characteristics- an intense interest in the keyboard, a passion for Hershey Kisses- and deep hatred for any other type of chocolate, a disproportionate big laugh for his thin frame, and living as one of 5 remaining Randy Travis fans, and eyelashes that women pay money for- he also happens to be disabled, physically and cognitively.  He was born 3 months early, had a ‘headbleed’, uses a wheelchair, is blind, etc.  But, he’s extremely healthy and (which may throw someone off as pegging us siblings) he is always happy. 

So my brother is disabled, which has led him down a different path than others.  He doesn’t go to your typical regular education classroom, he isn’t going to go to college, and he will always live with my parents (which isn’t that different when you look at all the post-grads living in mom’s basement I guess- minus the online gaming).

So whenever people I’m getting to know for the first time eventually ask me about my family, they ask if I have any siblings.  I say I have a younger brother and go on to talk about his age, his interests, etc.  Well when people hear that he is 20 they usually ask about school or college, which leads me to explain his disabilities.  And I kid you not…. 9 times out of 10 the next question goes as follows:

What is his life expectancy?

WHAT?!  And they always ask me with the same nonchalance as if they were asking what color his hair is.  As much as I get asked that question, it never fails to amaze me how fucking stupid everyone is.  Really.  That’s a stupid question.  If you ever meet someone who happens to have a disabled friend, family member, whatever, don’t ask them that.

The last fucking moron to ask me this question was my husband’s grandmother.  She’s usually the most polite person in the world- Grandpa was a mayor back in his day so she’s down with socializing- so this shocked me.  My eyes glazed over and I shrugged and said “I don’t know, normal?”  I should have asked her what hers was, and reminded her that the average life expectancy for Canadians is 80- was she getting nervous?

So that is by far, the most stupid question I have ever been asked.  What is even more stupid is how often I hear it!  What if it’s 21- and we were all terrified that this could be his last year with us?  Not every disability is terminal!  Do you ask someone who’s just been diagnosed with cancer what their life expectancy is?  How can anyone even know that?!?!  And something about my husband’s family (because I’m pretty sure they have all asked the exact same question) is the follow up response to that question, which is usually a story about disabled people getting gassed.  I kid you not.  Gas.

The first time I met my husband’s parents my brother’s disabilities came up, and after the life expectancy question, my father-in-law goes on to inform me that during the Holocaust the Nazis threw handicapped people in the gas chambers alongside the Jews and homosexuals.  Grandma, on the other hand, had a much more original segue.  She, upon hearing about my brother, was reminded of the heartwarming story of the man in Saskatchewan had a disabled daughter and took her out to his car and gassed her because he couldn’t stand to see her suffer.  He’s in jail now, but if he gets out I would like him to gas me too because that’s a hell of a lot better than living in Saskatchewan, thank you.  But, honestly, how am I not in jail for assualting my inlaws?  The Ultimate Stupid Question is one thing- surprisingly everyone pulls that original out of their ass with me- but the follow-up gassing tales? 

My brother may be the disabled individual in this story, but being a rude fucking idiot is a much worse affliction.

Possible future answers to “What is his life expectancy?”

• 457
• longer than yours (*Kill Idiot*)
• The doctors say 20 (*long pause*)  Oh my God!!! (*weep*)
• Well, actually we’re having him cloned…
• Whenever my dad decides to install that gas chamber
• Favorite:  Well that’s a stupid question, isn’t it?

Homecoming

Yay!  After three long months as an unemployed immigrant wife I get to return home for a three week visit.  Back to one dollar bills, rudeness, Chicago accents, and Fahrenheit and pounds. 

I’m leaving my husband alone here for those three weeks -he’s in school so he can’t come with me- but it’s probably a good thing.  He has final exams coming up and it’s just better if I’m not here distracting him.  I have a feeling I will have to leave the country whenever he has a test!

I hate flying though, I’m always on the plane full of babies or people who scream when we hit a little turbulance- OH, or last time when I got stuck sitting next to a couple of hardcore Christians, that was fun.  But I’ll stick it out.

But that’s boring, I’m going home for the holidays just like everyone else in the world.  I feel bad leaving my hubby though, because I think the only food he can prepare is cereal and I’m pretty sure he will go to school wearing my clothes before he starts doing his own laundry.  Good wife that I am, I have a freezer full of meals for him and got all the laundry done.  He’s stocked up, just like tv when the mom goes away and has every pre-made meal labelled in tupperware with cooking instructions printed neatly on the front.

I may not be working yet, but I’m learning the ways of the 1950’s woman, and I figure that will be useful someday.Anyway, some things I’m excited to do when I’m home:

1.  Go shopping!  Good Lord I have not gone shopping without guilt for so long!  And my wardrobe shows it.  I’ve saved for this, and I am coming back to Canada in style.  No more crap clothes I’ve had since high school, and for God’s sake I need a pair of pants that fit.

2.  See my mommy, daddy, and brother- who I miss terribly!  I’ve been around inlaws for the past 4 months and even though I love them and get a long with them, I can’t really be myself 100% around them.

3.  My dogs!  They’re spoiled, annoying, and only care about food- but I can’t wait to see them and tease them- especially the little one, she’s a bitch.

4.  Seeing my friend Megan, she’s pretty much my only friend who hasn’t stabbed me in the back or developed a cocaine addiction, and she likes to shop, so I will enjoy her company while I’m home.

5.  Working out- my dad works as a massage therapist at a huge workout facility, and got me a pass for when I’m home.  I am going to do every day, get ripped, and come back and kick my husband’s ass.  I’m talking Chyna muscles here.

6.  Having a car- yes I do have one, but it’s a Saturn and would never survive here.  Too much snow, not enough salt, and way too cold.  Oh- and the car has bald tires and is missing a window, so it’s not really worth it to have it here, but oh dear is it a pain in the ass not having the vehicle!  I’m sure I will someday share my public transit stories, after the therapy.

7.  Seeing my extended family, and eating their food.

8.  NOT being a housewife for three weeks.  Fuck cooking, fuck laundry, and fuck paying bills.