Once an Outside, Always an Outsider?

12.15.2010

I walked out of the market this afternoon and passed by what looked like a mommy convention. There must’ve been about 15 new moms with their babies and strollers sitting outside of the store having lunch. I scanned the crowd trying to find someone I could identify with and couldn’t. What exactly I was looking for I couldn’t tell you. Someone who looked like me? Someone who looked terrified? Someone who didn’t belong there? I don’t know. Maybe all of those things.

What I do know is how both scared and sad I felt while looking at this group. I’m not someone who ever fit into one particular crowd. As a teen, I floated between the jocks, the nerds, and, on a rare occasion, the popular crowd. I didn’t want to label myself and made it a point to be friends with everyone. Despite having gone to an all girl’s high school, those cliques were definitely there and I had a rough time freshman year.

But this isn’t a “woe is me” story because, obviously, I survived and I eventually found my circle of friends. But this group of mothers today reminded me of the typical popular girls you see in movies. They were loud, showing off their babies, and clacking like a group of hens. I realized that I would never be a part of a group like that. Not that I really care to be but I feel like because we’re waiting to have a kid, I’m going to find myself outside of the circle of parents who all had kids at about the same time and, like in so many other areas of my life, lagging behind everyone else. It struck me how I might feel like an outsider even while holding a baby amongst other mothers.

Moments Fade In, Moments Fade Out

10.02.2010

Today was the Lithuanian Fair. What always hits me is seeing kids grow up, become teens, and young adults, and eventually party like we used to. It’s like watching a movie of my life play out right in front of me only with different stars.

Last year I had an absolute blast. That’s not to say I didn’t have fun this year; I did. But I didn’t drink as much and my circle of childless friends has grown smaller since then. The kind of fun to be had now is on a different level. I don’t hang out at the bar anymore and I’m not looking to find out where the after-parties are going to be. Not that I did all that last year but just…this year seemed emotionally different.

I must admit that throughout the day I felt pangs of desire to have a family. I watched mothers with their little ones go to the “kid’s fun zone” or carrying their very little ones around or pushing them in a stroller and, well, I felt left out. There was a moment where Rob got “attacked” by our friends’ two kids and they kept jumping on him and asking him to give them a piggy back ride (together, mind you) and pretend they were different superheroes and/or villains. It was wonderful watching Rob participate and engage these kids and I momentarily caught a glimpse of a possible future.

But as I sat there watching and observing moments in time pulse in front of me, I also couldn’t help but be saddened though I’m not really able to identify why. Is it fear of the fact that in order to have a child I need to give up the only reality that I now know that is masked in sadness? Is it fear of the fact I may one day regret the decision to never have kids that is masked in sadness? Or is it fear of the fact that I feel alone and that no one can make this decision for me that is masked in sadness?

Those moments that I observed faded in and out like a movie across a screen only that the movie is a one-of-a-kind, for my eyes only. The story, the sequence of events, and the interpretation is written, edited and directed by me. How many stars I want in it is all up to me. Who knows where next year, at this time, this one-of-a-kind movie will have taken me. Part of me eagerly awaits while the other wishes the book were written first so that I could just flip to the last page and find out.

And the Scales Tip Yet Again

09.24.2010

I’ve been struggling lately with trusting my decisions because I tell myself that what I’ve decided isn’t perfect and it pisses me off how much of my childhood issues still creep up. I can’t help but wonder how much of these issues that are damaging to my own self-esteem would be transferred over to any child that I may have, thus, damaging theirs.

I logically understand that there’s no such thing as perfection but this is easier said than believing. I’ve forever battled a duality within me where one side wants to throw caution into the wind and the other recites the law and/or the Bible. The latter usually wins and, though I’m not complaining much by living on the straight and narrow, I often feel like I miss out on a lot of fun because I’m constantly trying to be perfect. We don’t learn about ourselves by being perfect, we learn by making mistakes. So why is it so difficult to accept these mistakes? I mean, one of my fears is making the mistake of having a child by “ruining” my life or “ruining” the child’s life because of something I did or didn’t do. I’m still sorting through traumatic childhood experiences and poor judgment on my mom’s part. How is this fair?

When I have such thoughts, it underscores that we pro-create not out of a desire to really have a kid but out of a selfish, biological necessity. Babies are cute because if they weren’t there’d be no drive to protect them. We didn’t know our great-grandparents personally and our great-grandchildren won’t know who we are; therefore, the fact that we have a child satisfies the immediate drive to pro-create, as well as an immediate emotional need to feel like we’re a part of something here and now.

Based on this, it’s hard to convince myself that having a child is “the right thing to do” when it’s more of an act of selfishness to have something I could ostensibly call “mine” during my lifetime because after that, only my kid(s) will have any memory of me and maybe my grandchildren.

Makes for a bleak picture, doesn’t it? Leave it to me.

All In Due Time

09.13.2010

Rob came home last night and told me about his experience at a friend’s house while watching the football game. An 8-year old boy was left with the group while his mother and friend went out for the afternoon. As you can imagine, an 8-year old in a room filled with “old” men doesn’t exactly mean tons of fun for a kid.

Eventually, Rob overheard the boy feeling bad about the way things were going and decided to ask the kid about a video game that he was playing earlier. The fact that the video game was Star Wars made them instantly connect. Within minutes, the boy was buddying up to Rob and asking a bunch of questions about the game and how to play it, and Rob said he felt so good to be able to calm this kid down and be able to relate to him. I observed Rob tell this story and, like what I’ve noticed over time, his (Rob’s) behavior towards kids has greatly altered…it’s become warmer and more inviting.

The clincher to this story was that, at one point, the boy turned to him and asked if he’d be spending the night to which Rob replied, “No.” The boy then grew a long and sad face which, Rob said, tugged at his heart…he didn’t like seeing the boy disappointed.

....There are several things at play here for me. First, I’m lucky to have a husband who isn’t closed off to the idea of having kids. If anything, he’s just waiting for the green light from me. Secondly, I’m lucky to have a husband who makes it a point to try and relate to kids on some level so that he/she doesn’t feel out of place or awkward. And third, I’m lucky to know that if we have a kid, he/she is going to have an amazing dad.

Endings

09.10.10

Death. It doesn’t matter who we are, what we believe in or how we behave. The only thing that truly unites us universally is that we all will one day be but a mere memory.

To have so many people die at about the same time is a bit…heart-wrenching especially when two of the deaths are so closely related to my childhood. I don’t wish pain on anyone with whom I’m no longer friends but I know that my former friend (and her family) are going through a lot. Their mom wasn’t Lithuanian but the community adopted her in and every summer at scout camp, she (the mom) was the head cook where we all worked with her at some point during our chore rotation. We adored her. She always had a smile on her face and was already ready to sit and talk with you whenever you needed.

Her husband is and always was a huge flirt but no matter how much he’d flirt his way through a room, when he looked at his wife, there was undying love and devotion. You couldn’t miss that in his eyes. In fact, they were a rare example for me growing up that a marriage can last. I have this foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach that he may pass in the next year himself because having to live without her might be too much.

It’s a strange feeling to lose someone from your childhood. On a day-to-day basis, we don’t pay attention to the ticking clock of our life but when a death occurs, it makes you stop and ponder the years that have gone by. And those memories, at least for me, are always bittersweet.

Rest in peace, A. You will be missed.

The Mind Thinks, The Heart Feels

09.05.2010

In the Los Angeles Times Magazine today, I read an interview with Milla Jovovich. This woman interests me for a strange reason and, when I disclose it, you will think me insane. Yes. You will. I used to have a major crush on actor Balthazar Getty and, as teens, they used to date, and…I hated her for that. I mean, she took away the guy who would fall in love with me the moment he saw me as soon as I were to find an opportunity to present myself to him. Now, 20 years later, she interests me because, in my head, we have history. (I told you you’d think me insane.)

Anyway, there’s something she said in the interview that resonated with me.

The question: VH1 has dubbed you the Reigning Queen of Kick-Butt. Does that help or hinder in getting dramatic roles like the one in Stone?

Her answer: You know, at this point in my career, I can’t imagine anything could hinder me, aside from myself. Having a baby really kind of changed my whole outlook. Before, it was more me being too into my head – too self-centered or insecure about this and that. Now, if my baby is not sick, if she sleeps okay, is eating well…that’s all any mom can ask for. With that kind of new outlook, people can’t help but feel that from you and look at you differently. Now I love to go on auditions.

I know it may seem weird that I identify with her without having a kid myself but there’s a part of me that understands “being too into my head – too self-centered or insecure.” I don’t have kids so I live in my own head for however much I want. I can be self-centered and I’m definitely insecure. I don’t think these necessarily go away completely once you have kids. But I think perspective on them changes because it’s no longer all about you.

I also relate on the level that once you have an attitude adjustment about something, the world takes notice. I’ve had a major attitude adjustment in my life since the beginning of summer and, having come to certain conclusions, I noticed the positive response from the world around me. This change in my life has proven what an important lesson it is to listen to your heart because the answers to all our questions, frustrations, and worries are there. We may not like what we hear but that’s when we should especially listen. Our mind may think it knows best but sometimes we need to give the controls over to the heart however insane that may make us look. Trust me. I know a thing or two about that.

Can't We Have A Conditional Relationship?

06.21.2010

A screening of Iron Man 2 was playing at Rob’s work tonight and so he took me to go see it knowing that it was one of my anticipated movies of the summer. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and a lady’s eyes can never get tired of looking at good ol’ Mr. Robert Downey, Jr.

Next to us sat a co-worker of Rob’s who had brought her adorable little boy. He was about 5 years-old, maybe even 4 (I’m horrible at judging kids’ ages) and I figured the movie must’ve been such a treat for him to see. Rob often tells me that superheroes and comic books are greatly important to little boys.

I found myself wishing that it were normal to have a kid conditionally. I know that totally defeats the purpose of parenting and bonding, etc., etc. But, it would be nice to enjoy the child when I wanted to and then he/she could just, you know, “go back.” Uh, “Where?” you ask? I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out yet.

The thing is, I really do like and enjoy kids. And, oddly, most kids take to me. I find a kinship with them. I feel like my true silly of a personality can come out with them and no one passes judgment on me. I can play with imaginary friends, build castles out of couch cushions, and become a knight with a shield and a sword fighting off dragons. I LOVE this kind of stuff. I just don’t want the responsibility of having to give up so much of my time to do all the “extras” that involve kids (dealing with tantrums, negotiations, toys everywhere, food issues…I could keep going…)

I know you gotta take the good with the bad. I understand that logically. But I like coming and going as I please. I like having to only worry about myself, my husband, and the cats. I like being able to sleep in if I want to. I like not having to worry about meltdowns at a supermarket and watching everyone stare at me like I’m the worst mother in the world.

But I also understand that in 10 years from now, there’s a strong chance I’ll reflect on my 30s with great regrets like I do when I reflect on my 20s. I never thought I’d get married and I never wanted a family of my own. I was always career oriented though I did absolutely nothing to take any steps to reach my career goals (though I'm doing that now). What I did instead was meet an amazing man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. That threw a wrench into my whole vision of how I saw my future but I wouldn’t trade any decisions that led me to him for anything in the world.

Couldn’t a child affect in the same way?

"Tears for a Good Father" Article

06.20.2010

I was reading the paper this morning and came across this really touching story that I wanted to share especially because it’s quite a propos of my entry from a few days ago.

Tears for a Good Father / by Harlan Coben[1]

This may seem like a sad story, but it’s not.

“I found this upstairs.” My 16-year-old daughter Charlotte, the oldest of my four kids, enters the kitchen and hands me the 40-year-old photograph. “Is that you?”

“Yep,” I say. “I had hair once.”

It is a picture of my father and me standing on the front lawn at our house in Livingston, N.J. I look at my father in this photograph. My mom used to say that he was a dead ringer for Victor Mature, Dean Martin (“If only your father would get his teeth fixed”), and, mostly, Jerry Orbach. He was a big man, and in this photograph, with his smile wide, he looks strong and confident. I don’t remember the picture being taken. I wish I did, because I look pretty darned happy snuggled against him.

Then, without warning—still holding the old photograph, Charlotte by my shoulder—I burst into tears. I don’t mean well up or sniffle or feel tears running down my face or even cry. I mean head-down, body-wracking sobs. My daughter backs away for a moment, probably scared. I don’t think she has seen me cry before. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever saw my father cry either.

I flash to the little things about him. The polyester double-knit shorts that were always too snug, like he was competing at Wimbledon in 1978. The too-big sunglasses that looked like he might have stolen them from Sophia Loren. I remember when he tried a fanny pack (that was a big no), the smell of his Old Spice, the way he steered the car with his wrists and whistled off-key, the AM news station playing in the steamed bathroom when he shaved, the white tube socks pulled up too high, the CB radio he loved for maybe four months. I remember how bad he was with tools and how that still didn’t stop him from taking on home projects best left to professionals or how every Sunday he would walk to Livingston Bagel or take me to Seymour’s Luncheonette for a milkshake and a pack of baseball cards. And I remember the way his cheek felt when I kissed him hello or goodbye, as I always did, no matter who was around, because that’s what we did.

I look at the 40-year-old photograph and see him so young, but of course he would never have a chance to grow old. I remember buying him an oversize Father’s Day card in 1988. For some odd reason, I bought it early. It was sitting near me when my mother called to tell me that my father had just called from his hotel room in Florida. He was there on business, and he felt chest pains. When I get him on the line, he puts on a brave front and tells me not to worry, he is fine.

That would be the last time I ever talked to him.

So what lessons did I learn when he died of a heart attack at 59? Unfortunately, the great insights are often the great clichés: Life goes by fast, don’t waste a moment, tell the ones you love how you feel, show affection every chance you get—because I would give anything to kiss that cheek just one more time.

I am still gripping the photograph and sobbing. I should make myself stop, but this feels, if not good, right. It’s been too long. My daughter, not sure what to do, tentatively approaches. She puts her arms around my shoulders and tries to quiet me.

“I know you miss him,” she says to me.

And I do. Still. Every day.

Wait. Didn’t I say this wasn’t a sad story?

So here’s the uplifting part: It’s okay to feel this pain. In fact, when you’ve been as lucky as I was in the father department, it would be an outrage not to cry. You can’t have an up without a down, a right without a left, a back without a front—or a happy without a sad. This is the price you pay for having a great father. You get the wonder, the joy, the tender moments—and you get the tears at the end, too.

My father, Carl Gerald Coben, is worth the tears. I hope that one day, to my children, I’ll be worth them, too. And if your father is worth them, let him know.

As the old proverb says, “When a father gives to his son, they both laugh. When a son gives to his father, they both cry.”

Happy Father’s Day, everyone.

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[1] http://www.parade.com/news/backpage/harlan-coben/100620-tears-for-a-good-father.html

Unexpected Detours

04.18.2010

I attended a baby shower today and a strange phenomenon happened. I’ve hosted baby showers before and I’ve certainly attended more than my share of these gatherings, but I think because of the blog, my age, and just the general “baby on the brain” mentality, I was hyper sensitive to the event.

When my friend was opening her gifts today there was all this “oohing” and “awing” with each gift and, I have to admit, the stuff was really cute. Especially the little baby clothes. We all agreed that her little boy was going to be on helluva well-dressed kid.

But with each piece of clothing that she received, it got me thinking. And the part of me that got to thinking wasn’t the logical, outline everything, think everything through part. I am very good at stifling my emotions (unless I’m pissed) and, as a defense from childhood, I keep them bottled in and deal with choices and decisions rather robotically. I mean, emotions always get you into trouble, right? That’s always been my philosophy.

So, what astounded me today is that as I watched my friend open her gifts, I caught myself thinking, “Just do it.” And, like, this maternal thing kicked in. (haha) I’m not talking about nurture, I’m talking about maternal. It was pure emotion taking over and it wasn’t about logistics. I have never in my life found myself in this position. Even in my single days, if I liked a guy, it was all up in my head and not my heart. It was never about “follow your heart," it was more about the intellectual side of it all. But this incident this afternoon really caught me off guard. And oddly…for a fleeting moment…I liked it. It made me feel comfortable. And warm. And happy.

Then when I left the shower I did what I usually do when leaving an unfamiliar place and got lost. I thought I’d get back to the freeway the way I came, but at the last minute I decided to take a detour thinking that the freeway would be closer if I went in the opposite direction (based on a sign I read). Well, that wasn’t the case and as I’m weaving through this gorgeous Pasadena neighborhood listening to awesome music on the radio, I got this feeling, for the first time in my life, where I didn’t feel like a kid (young adult). Like, I had this weird moment with myself where I felt like an adult. I passed by all these gorgeous homes and I thought, “You need to get serious. You need to accept that you are not that seventeen-year old you keep insisting you are.” Being young in your heart is one thing. But actually deluding yourself that you’re going to “beat time” and be 17 forever is just not happening. It’s not, and the sooner that’s acknowledged and accepted, the better.

Then I thought about the detour I was on and reminded myself that life is one big detour. We may have a map in front of us and think that we know the direction that we’re going in, but what maps don’t tell you about are all the road closures that you might come across or any new roads that have been built. In other words, it’s during the detours, during those unexpected detours especially, that provide for an opportunity for the next step to be taken, the next lesson to be learned and/or the next (great) opportunity to arise.

I’m not saying I’m gonna run out and get pregnant now…but let’s just say that the idea of having a child is no longer so cold, so isolated…or so…robotic.

Innocence Lost

04.12.2010

I often think about the innocence that’s lost when we become adults. As children, we’re entitled to dream big, often encouraged by adults, and we believe in endless possibilities and in the goodness of people. At what point does that all evaporate? At some point, our hearts become hardened and we become more cynical than when we were younger. We also tend to lose our ability to dream. We become so focused on what’s “practical," so focused on how much money we don’t have or lamenting decisions that we made or didn’t make. It seems that getting older should make us wiser but it seems that it often makes us sadder or more cold-hearted. I suppose having kids would make someone’s heart softer or allow the adult to act silly again for the sake of the child. But what about the ability to dream? Or the notion that there’s good in all people regardless of race, ethnicity, or religion? Children are born innocent and learn certain behavior and beliefs from the adults that raise them or around them. Our own lives and how they shape out, and where we are at the particular point in our lives when we start having children, dictates how we’re going to raise our children.

In other words, if a woman is greatly unhappy with her life when she starts having kids, that unhappiness is going to dictate how she raises her kids. She might take out her anger at herself and her life on her children that, in turn, it will shape the kinds of people they become. On the opposite end of the spectrum is the mother (or parents) who are in a relatively good place in their lives (emotionally, financially, mentally, etc.) and the support they’re able to give their child will shape the person that child becomes. I mean, this isn’t news and is part of basic child psychology. But it seems to me that we think so little of this part of child development and, yet, it’s one of the biggest deciding factors to aid in a child’s development. It’s a little detail that has huge repercussions either way you look at it. I wish people paid more attention to it.

Childbirth and Rollercoasters

03.18.2010

I was watching the TLC show titled A Baby Story and I wish I didn’t intellectualize everything. It can be exhausting!

[Just a side note, TLC should rename their station TES, The Exploitation Station. (Idea courtesy of Rob.)]

Pregnancy fascinates me, terrifies me and repulses me all at the same time. I feel the same way when I’ve cut myself deeply. I acknowledge that what I’m about to say is going to sound completely bizarre but I feel like the woman kind of gets robbed by not being able to see the baby come out of her. Everyone stands there staring at her but the woman doesn’t get to see. I suppose she could ask for a mirror, but I doubt that’s on a woman’s mind at that moment. And I guess while giving birth you don’t really care to see something like that. It’s just something that’s crossed my mind; weird, I know.

I’ve witnessed a childbirth before and I found the entire event to by a beautiful experience. Hearing the first breath a child takes touched my heart in a way I could’ve never imagined and watching the parents cradle their new addition, welcoming him into the world, was wonderful. It’s hard to describe and, I guess, it’s one of those things I shouldn’t try to intellectualize. It’s definitely emotional.

Just like when watching that show. I often find myself welling up with the mother after she gave birth. Why does that happen? I’m, by nature, not an emotional person and I’m constantly surprised at this. I don’t know these people on TV. Other than the 14 minutes or so, I haven’t really entered their lives, know their history, or carry any loyalty to them. And yet, there I am, wiping tears as they hold their newborn.

I sometimes play a game with myself and imagine myself in the birthing room and then I feel the onset of a panic attack. The only thing I can compare it to is a roller coaster. I don’t like them and the only kinds I can kind of deal with are the ones at Disneyland. Splash Mountain is always the worst for me. I enjoy it all the way up until that last hill that you climb. My palms get clammy and I start thinking, “Why did I do this? I hate this. Get me out of here!” The top is the worst when you see the whole park in that split second before you drop; it’s kind of like I’ve peaked in a moment of insanity, then I put my head down and scream. Once at the bottom, I look up, laugh, and think about how much fun that was and I find myself entertaining the idea of doing it again.

So in the fantastical world that is my imagination, that’s how I see myself giving birth. “Why did I do this? I hate this. Get me out of here!” Except…the “ride” is longer than 3 minutes, the climb up that last hill can take hours and it’s extremely painful.[1] Why do women do this over and over? I suppose you take the risk that, like once at the bottom of Splash Mountain, you find that the ride may have been bumpy and, at times, scary, the overall experience was worth it because it provided more pleasure than anything else.

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[1] I’ll address the issue of an epidural tomorrow.

Children Filling a Void

03.06.2010

Day #3. J Off to a good start, I’d say.

I was thinking a lot today about parents and their insecurities. I guess it’s sort of a continuation of yesterday’s topic. But I’m so afraid of passing on my own insecurities to my child/ren that it’s actually one of the reasons I hesitate in making a decision in the “yes” department. My life-long issues with food, weight, and trich are a constant battle that to think that I could pass along these problems to an innocent child makes me cringe.[1] Why would I want to knowingly contribute to another human’s challenges?

I see so many women want a child to fill some sort of a void. First of all, I suppose children fill a void in a man’s life. But because I’m not a man, I can’t really speak for that gender. Usually we hear about the woman and her biological clock and this undying need to give birth and hold and raise a child. Lord knows, I know of women who are addicted to newborns. I’m sure we all know a famous one! (Octomom.) But I know of one woman in particular and I’ve heard of others who coerce their husband into having another baby because, well, they “smell good”. Or “they’re so tiny and helpless”. Or “my other children are growing up so fast, I want a newborn in the house again to make me feel needed”.

Really? And we consider bringing another human being into this overpopulated world because we want to feel needed as a valid excuse? Or because we want to smell something nice? To the first one: get a dog. They need you all the time. To the second: wake up early in the morning to spend some time with yourself and walk on the beach. The ocean at that time of day has an awesome smell.

I had a friend with whom my friendship was already on the brink of falling apart when she told me that she was pregnant. I was 6 months away from getting married, I was entering the final phase of graduate school, and I had just started an internship at a non-profit. Our friendship was under some strain because of the guy she had chosen to start dating, and when I would try to reach out to help her, she would push me away. I knew of the atrocities of her childhood and her deep desire for a family, and I knew she was getting up there in age, so from an emotional point-of-view, I understand why she got pregnant. But, as a high school dropout, working at a doctor’s office, taking up with an illegal immigrant, and, at the time, living with a family because she could not afford an apartment of her own, I found the situation to be on the brink of abusive. Why would you bring a child into this situation? And with a man who was not only an illegal but also one who had two or three children and a wife back home. So many women from all walks of life get pregnant to fill an emotional need. And what I think is that it’s so unfair to lay down such a huge responsibility on a soul who never asked to be born in the first place. If you, as an adult, can’t fix your own problem, how is a child supposed to do that?

In the same context, there are women who are in marriages or relationships that are toxic for whatever reason and the mentality is that “If we just have a baby, it’ll make everything better”. Seriously, take a look around. How many people do you know in that very same position? I consider this child abuse, as well. And sometimes a couple is in a loveless marriage but for some reason divorce is not considered an option, so the mentality is that if a baby comes into the picture then it means everything is alright, right?

Why do we do this? You would think that since our society is so baby-oriented that we want to do everything in our power to make life for the baby as comfortable and stable. Yet how much attention is paid to the here and now? Is it that we’re so afraid of failure? Is it that we’re afraid to accept responsibility for the mistakes we made that led us to the position we’re in at that moment? And why do we convince ourselves that bringing a baby into the situation is going to make everything better? Is it that we become addicted to the symbolism of a baby, of its newness and 2^nd chances, which make us feel that all the problems will just go away?

And why don’t we realize that this is just a mask? That running from the problems or sweeping them under a rug may temporarily dispose of them but they will always come back with a vengeance. And by that point, you have one or more kids that will have to witness all the junk that at one point was thought to have been kept in hiding. How fair is that?

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[1] “Trich” is short for trichotillomania, a hair pulling disorder that I have dealt with since I was 12.