02.09.06
Goodbye yellow brick road
I thought about not writing this entry, mostly because there are some people in my real life who read this, although it is only a handful and I would talk about this to them anyway.
I tossed and turned last night. Even on my restless nights I usually sleep until around three, but last night I was awake again before midnight. My restlessness keeps Steve awake and although he has told me on more than one occasion that he would rather have a restless night with me beside him than a good sleep with me on the couch, last night I took my fleece blanket and headed out to the living room. Milo came out about half an hour later to look for me. She always does that. I guess that it is ok to leave to room because she knows sometimes I have to pee in the middle of the night, but when I do not come back, she always comes looking for me. So I got a kiss on the cheek and she climbed up on the couch at my feet to sleep in the living room with me.
As I laid there, waiting to fell asleep I started thinking about one of my friends. She promised that she would come visit us when we first moved here. Every time I talked to her, her conviction that she would come waned a little, until last night she told me she cannot afford to get here. Part of me totally understands. She works two jobs, neither of which pay well. She has a lot of bank debt and student loan to pay off and never really has any money, so a plane or train ticket really is not feasible. But then the other part of me (maybe the selfish part) asks how she can afford to go drinking once or twice a week? Or how she can afford to go to the rugby tournament in March if she has no money. I said that to Steve and he said because those are her priorities. And of course I knew that. She has struggled with sexuality and girlfriends and boyfriends and self esteem and self worth and I can constantly see this battle inside of her where she does not acknowledge her true emotions to herself, about life and change and growing up. I hate to watch in a way, but sometimes want to tell her that she cannot hang on to life the way it was forever, that you have to, at the very least, accept change, because it comes. And fighting it makes it harder to deal with.
Then I thought about my priorities and how much they have changed. And I thought about how she bitched about a mutual friend who was in Nova Scotia over the Christmas holidays but did not go to Halifax and visit. And I thought about our time there this summer and wondered if she will be unsatisfied with the amount of time we spend in Halifax. And I wondered if she will want me to go out drinking with her. And I wondered if she understands or can accept how tremendously my life is changing right now. That it is no longer about a boyfriend or maybe moving away or looking for a job that leads to a career. I wonder if she will look at me with a child and think it to be more like babysitting than motherhood, because she is so unwilling to accept the fact that life is no longer the way it used to be when we all lived in the same block, when we all went out drinking every week, when we stopped over unannounced at each others houses every other day.
So part of me is disappointed that she is not going to come and visit us, to see our new house. Part of me feels let down, like maybe she does not care all that much about our new life, really would not be able to process it, somehow wants us to only exist for her in her world. And part of me understands what a hard time she has, fighting with her own emotions about life and love and sexual attraction. And of course, I understand that she has no money. But the other part of me wants to begrudge her this. Wants to hold it over her head that she would not put away fifty dollars a month for a few months to get enough for a plane ticket.
I guess it feels like we are growing up at different speeds. And while I guess that is normal, it makes it a little hard, too. She is a good friend and I love her, but when we talk on the phone after she is finished with her funny stories about what happened at the bar and who she made out with last week and filling me in on the latest gossip, I feel that she is somehow less interested in cribs and strollers and what type of breast pump or diaper might be best for our baby. I guess it feels like this baby is a novelty to her. A cute little chubby cheeked infant for her to hold when she sees us and marvel at us as parents, but not something as completely immense at it truly is. I guess what I feel is that my baby is underappreciated. Be it true or not, it makes me not want to share, not want to share at all.
I guess in a lot of ways, 24 is young to be a mother. Especially lately, because everyone seems to be waiting until they are in their thirties to start families. And I guess that at 24 a lot of people are still in university or working shit jobs until they find their way, or so unsure about what they want. But she cannot let go. She was heartbroken when I told her we were leaving Halifax. She lives with university students, drinks with them, hangs out with the girls who play rugby for the team we used to play for, helps coach, works at the same shoe store on the weekends that she has worked at for three years under the premise of getting some extra money although she just keeps adding cute shoes and rain jackets to her line of credit at the store to pay off. I know that everyone has their issues to deal with, and I must admit that walking away has never been a problem I have had (if anything I often jump ship a little too early), but sometimes it feels like I am watching her spin out of control.
I guess it boils down to my disappointment that she will not see where we live. Not here in Kingston and probably not ever.
They told Steve last week that the next stop might be Fredericton (which thrills me! A rural base so close to a cute city with lots of jobs and a university for both of us and close to our families � although I always have to remember not to get my hopes up because what is said is not often what happens, but I can still daydream about moving back to the Maritimes next year right?). The Engineering school is in CFB Gagetown (that is where he did his course) and they want him to go and teach there. Secretly I am relieved that we are not moving this summer, not because of some attachment I have to Kingston (because there is none) but because we already have so much planned and I dreaded the thought of moving with a newborn. But maybe in July 2007 we will no longer be displaced Maritimers. And sometimes, that is exactly how I feel. Like a fish out of water, a little bit lost. Yesterday, as I made some egg salad, it occurred to me that I am not even sure what brand eggs we buy, or if they are the best type. When we settled in to our house in November and made our first trip to the grocery store, I headed over to pick up some milk and for the first time in my life stared at all the cartons and wondered how you actually decided which brand of milk to use. It is a decision I have never had to make in my life. I guess it will probably get easier, and maybe this longing inside of me for something familiar beyond Steve and Milo and what I have known since November will subside. Maybe this longing to raise my kids closer to their grandparents will be appeased by visits and phone calls and the week-long trips to see Nova Scotia Nanny that my mother has already claimed as soon as possible until we can move back.
I guess we are going to be raising Military brats, and in my heart, I hope that our children will always think of Nova Scotia as home, because that is where their parents are from, or that is where they spent time in the summers, or because somehow, they feel a kinship with that small province with green hills and blue oceans, with coal mines and factories, with small schools and run down towns. That somehow they will see past all of the dingy buildings and poor towns, past the closed mindedness and the gossip to the place where they are from, where the secrets of their family lie. Because it is all there, in tears and fights and love and children and grandchildren and family dinners and barbeques, it has always been there, ever since we came across the ocean to this country. I used to joke that my family got off the boat in Pictou, made it to Stellarton and decided to stop there. But it is not only me, that is where all of Steves memories are, too. His loves and broken hearts, skinned knees and discovering that the world around you is so much bigger than your yard, or your dog, or what your mom says you can and cannot do.
Ah, anyway, I am rambling today. I have to go shower and get some breakfast before Steve gets home to come with me to my midwife appointment. I am sure that I will update later, tomorrow at the latest with what she said about labouring tubs, birth plans, breast pumps and all those fun questions I have to ask.
wunderwuman at 7:54 a.m.