30 January 2001
I did it again. I missed the journal's anniversary. Reflections is now two years (and a few days) old!
Shit. After I got out of the shower, I pulled the wet tape from around my fingers and threw it out, but I just now realized I forgot to put fresh tape on. So now I just have to try to remember not to use my pinky for the rest of the day. That, or jury-rig a taping with a kleenex and scotch tape...
I'm guessing today isn't going to be the best day of my life so far. Just a hunch.
I was the first person to arrive at the office this morning. Which is a little weird, because there are usually five or six people here ahead of me, and I was even running a little late this morning.
Disjointed? Me? Nah...
So, there's news. Kris is pregnant, due sometime around the end of September.
It's something of a surprise, and they were more than a little worried when they first found out, but I think they've finally decided it's a Good Thing. Which is good, because I for one am very excited.
Of course, if I say I want one of my own now, Matt will just say I'm copycatting Kris again...
(That's a joke. I even already used it on Matt. Don't get your panties in a bunch.)
(Of course, if I do want a baby of my own, I'll probably have to weigh even more carefully my decision about a career change. Cutting my salary in half would make things a little tight for us. Cutting my salary in half and adding another whole person to the house would be really worrisome.)
Anyway, thoughts of my own reproduction aside, I'm very excited about Braz and Kris having a baby. I kindof hope it's a girl - the mental image of Braz with a little daughter is too adorable for words. Of course, the thought of Braz with any kind of baby is pretty damn adorable, so whatever happens, it will be fine.
I'm afraid it's going to be a rough pregnancy, though, at least mentally. Kris is something of a hypochondriac - it's an occupational hazard - add to that the fact that she's going through wild hormonal changes and has cut off alcohol, caffeine, and cigarettes (though she was only having two or three a day)... She's already started worrying about things like spinal bifida and birth defects; having dreams that the baby will have three eyes or multiple heads.
Speaking of which, I have a confession to make. It's one of those things that you know is wrong and can't help anyway. Try not to think less of me, but I'll understand if you do.
Retarded people creep me the fuck out.
I mean, a lot. I know this ranks right up there with Rob's thing about midgets, but I have sympathy for him. When we were in Chicago last summer, at a Cubs game with Matt's mom, she pointed out a retarded child climbing the stairs towards his seat, proudly clutching a souvenier, and she said, "Isn't that just precious?" No. It was repulsive. Even though I wasn't sitting on the aisle, I flinched as the child came abreast of us. There is a mildly retarded girl who bags groceries at our grocery store, and another who works at the McDonald's near my office. They both make me uneasy, the moreso because they're so obviously happy to be able to work at all.
I know, as a good person, I should be able to look on these people and be sympathetic to their plight. I should rejoice in their small triumphs, feel proud for their meager accomplishments, and be drawn to help them. But I am not. I am frightened by their odd faces, repulsed by their jerky movements, and upset by their thick voices. And I am constantly ashamed of my lack of compassion for a fellow being less fortunate than myself, but I can't seem to help it.
Every time I think I might want a child, I consider the possibility that some defect (or divine justice) might cause me to give birth to one of these, and I am deterred. The children bother me so much worse than the adults, I can even understand why so many primitive cultures reserved the right to destroy children at birth who were less than perfect... And that thought also shames me.
I don't even understand why it is that I feel this revulsion. If it were sorrow at the loss of potential, I could understand it. If it were compassion for the heartbreak of their families, I could understand it. But it is atavistic loathing unadulterated by any more gentle emotion, mixed with my own feelings of guilt.
I don't know why, and I wish it could be different. It's an ugly side of me that I wish desperately could be changed, but I don't know how to even begin. I'm sorry if this was too ugly for you, my readers. But it wanted to come out, and I've been fighting the impulse for weeks. (No, this has nothing to do with Kris' pregnancy. I've been thinking about it for much longer than I've known about that.) But this journal is for me as much as it is for you, and when a thing needs to be said, I'm afraid I have to say it, even if it reveals a part of me I wanted to keep hidden.
Word of the Day:
ex parte - from a one-sided or partisan point of view; on one side only
Currently Reading:
- The Macintosh Bible by Sharon Aker
- Taliesin by Stephen Lawhead
Current Projects:
- Kris' afghan
- placemats