On the beach today, with a relative. We are watching Baby Man play, and I am thinking about how I would rather be swimming, or digging, or really anything other than talking to this woman. But I feel guilty, because, well, sometimes I wonder if I’m just mean. If I don’t want to talk to her because I think she’s kind of an idiot. She’s not nearly as educated as I am, and I am sensitive to the idea that I might be overeducated and snobby. My head is certainly full of useless information. And well, considering that I don’t have a job and she does, perhaps I’m the clueless one.
Then she asks, “was it worth it, all you went through to have him.” I blurt, “um, well, uh,” but before I answer she says, “how long were you on bedrest anyway?” I say, “most of the pregnancy, but I was really free to walk around after about 34 weeks.” And she says, “why?” And I answer, “well because the risk of pre-term labor had passed.” She says, “Oh, that’s why you were on bed rest? What was wrong with you?” I, confusedly say, “well, my history made me at high risk for giving birth early.” She responds, “Why? Because you had all those miscarriages?” I kind of stop in my tracks and say, “Um, no, because I had a son who died after being born prematurely.” And she says, “Oh right, oh yeah, now I remember,” and wanders off.
Good part about that conversation is: my guilt is gone. I don’t feel so bad about thinking she’s an idiot now.
fyi: I have a plan to try to write something here now, everyday or at least every other day, for a month. We’ll see what happens.