Because there aren't any ears to abuse at the moment.
I was sitting next to my father, and he was rambling about being a teenager, when I forgot how old I am. Completely. I panicked a little bit. In my head I was going through the numbers: 18? 19? 20? I'm not sure...
It was really scary. I thought about the times Dad has been feverish. One of the questions the EMT's always ask to check for delirium is "How old are you?" Then I tried to think of today's date. That's the second question they ask. I didn't know the date either. I panicked a little bit more. Asked my mom how old I am. I'm twenty. I'm twenty. It's December 30th 2006. I'm twenty. Am I really?
I feel so out of the loop in all areas. I don't have any friends. I'm nothing. I do nothing. I clean and cook once in awhile. I see my family. I spend time with Zak. I live multiple lives through books. And it's enough for the most part. I can't think of anything I want to do. I don't want to do anything more right now. I'm too tired and I pee every five minutes.
I'm all mama. I'm okay with this. In fact, I feel like it's the one thing I am genuinely excited about. I can't wait for the little shnook to come out and see the world. I can't wait to share what I love: food, music, books, art, movies, places. I can't wait to go to the zoo, the park, the children's museum with the giant water clock and the giant glass art sculpture. I can't wait to take naturalist courses with the baby in tote in a cozy mayan sling. I'm ecstatic about meeting this little stranger who will be a blend of Zak and I and yet someone totally new.
My body is unrecognizable. I don't mind it. The only things I mind are the slight discomfort and not being able press against Zak when we hug. My siblings think my belly is ugly. They get uncomfortable if I show them because it looks painful. I'm not uncomfortable with the stretch marks. I think a large part of my confidence is because of Z. He still manages to see beauty.
I look at the stretching scars all over me and feel like a warrior. A tribal queen. White marks (they used to remind me of kitten stripes but now they're more like a tiger's) that have creeped down my thighs to my knees. Purple marks on my breasts. Angry red scars round my belly button. Brown stripe down my belly that ends in a black spot that is the inside out of my button. That little black spot is the only filipino my mom passed to me. The rest of me is white. Our baby will be a little pasty dough child like me. Maybe he or she'll have a little black/brown belly button too. People who say you can stop stretch marks are liars. It's mostly genetics. My mother and sisters are ashamed of theirs, and I couldn't see why. My mom and sisters are beautiful. I vowed not to be ashamed of mine.
This experience. Pregnancy. My body and mind being trained to care for this person. Part of it is like empathy boot camp. I feel like such an infant myself. I urinate constantly. And my hormones make me act like a little fool. I cry if I don't get my nap. I get impatient and cranky if I'm not fed. I want to cling to Zak almost constantly. I worry that if I had been born into poverty I'd be a terrible person. I can't cope well with being hungry or tired. It makes me wonder if I am a terrible person since so much of my goodness is dependent on comfort. But at any rate, I find myself sympathizing with little people so much because of this boot camp, I hope that I'll be a good mama when the baby cries "for no apparent reason". I even tried to remember as far back as I could to to remember what I really disliked when I was little. The only thing I remember hating is the sensation of cold wipes during a diaper change. So we're getting a wipe warmer.
I don't know what to do with myself. People seem to think I need more than this, but right now I want to nap. The only thing I do feel amiss in is important details... formalities like thank you card's and visits that I never make happen, still haven't gotten round to changing my surname, can't even remember how old I am. My memory favours useless knowledge. I can tell you about the sex life of butterflies, anecdotes about famous dead people, interestings bits of animal biology. Too bad I would miserably fail the test for delirium. Too bad I have no social skills.
But everything is so blurry. Literally and figuratively. I've stopped wearing my glasses for a year or more now. It's like living in a live Monet painting. I feel so much older than twenty, perhaps, because of my failing memory. Or maybe it's because I'm always being told how responsible and mature I am for my age. I'm twenty. Today is December 30th 2006.