Reductio ad absurdum & random asides

I want to start a movement to replace the "In God We Trust" (what "we"??) on this country's currency with "Reductio ad Absurdum".  I think it reflects the position of this nation much more accurately.  It also reflects the state of things around here.

As I last blogged, Speedy's family drama is one part of that.  (Incidentally, after my last post, she climbed into bed at about 1 a.m.-- after returning from her late shift night-- and whispered, "Slouchy and Grouchy, huh?"  After we laughed for several minutes, she said, "But you didn't explain about my tyrannical father."  So, yes-- there's more where that came from, but I tried to stick with what was directly relevant to the issue at hand.)

My own issues are another part of it.  Poor Speedy often feels pathologized for her family's obvious dysfunction and the long-lasting effects that it has had on her and those around her.  In that context, my boring, WASPy family without any overt issues doesn't hold as much drama, and my scars are less visible.  But they are there, and this pregnancy has brought them into the light as much as the underlying vasculature of my chest now stands out in stark blue against my pale skin.  It was always there, but holy sh-t!  You can really see it now!

My issue, in a nutshell:  I don't trust other people to take care of things (me, or anything) and so I try to do everything myself.  This goes by a lot of names:  controlling, perfectionism, domineering.  Conversely, it is, at its heart, a real fear that no one will love me/care for me/nurture me when I need it.  So I go into overdrive asserting my independence from such needs, and maintaining everything in my life just so.  Obviously, in a relationship, this has its pros and cons:  I always do the dishes, but I can be extremely critical when things are done by other people and not done my way.

Cut to... my birthday early this week.  The one day a year when I, deep down, really, really want to be taken care of.  Don't get me wrong: I am not a diva about it.  I don't need breakfast in bed and flowers sent to my work. I abhor expensive gifts and things I don't want and can't use....but I do want to feel...nurtured and loved.  But because of aforementioned insecurities I have a hard time expressing that, and an even harder time trusting someone (namely, Speedy) to do it.  So I say nothing, pretend it's no big deal.  I say, "Just get me a passionfruit tartlette (my favorite pastry on earth) and a card." And a prenatal massage, which Speedy did send me a certificate for last week, thank you!

But on the actual day of my birthday, I went to work as usual and Speedy worked the 10-10 shift, meaning I left and came home before her.  In the morning, she had no card, but that was ok.  She said "happy birthday" and handed me a scrap of paper declaring her love and apologizing for not having a card.** Then she walked the dogs and made me lunch and sent me off with a kiss. But at work I started to worry. With each hour that I got no phone call, no card, no surprise e-mail, no sweet text, I was feeling more and more precarious.  I got some sweet calls and emails from friends, all of whom noted that "This is the last birthday you have that will be all about YOU!" causing me to scoff miserably over my keyboard. When Speedy called at 4 p.m. not to tell me "I love you.  Happy birthday." But- "I didn't have time to clean the kitchen before I left for work, sorry." I nearly lost it at my desk.  When I got home to still no card, no note, and nothing but a dirty kitchen, I walked the dogs, took out the trash, made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, all while crying in the dark.  By the time Speedy came home with a hastily-purchased card, and, belatedly exclaimed, "Oh, sweets, I forgot your tartlette!" I TOTALLY FREAKIN' LOST IT.

I sulk, I reproach, and I go to bed actually sobbing by now.  (Oh my goodness, you guys have no idea, and I am not helping-- but I am SO Not That Person.)  Reductio ad absurdum.

Anyway, suffice it to say, we have recovered.  Speedy got me not one, but a dozen passionfruit tartlettes the next day and vowed to make the next 364 days "my birthday every day" since my real birthday was a bummer.  But oh, how these pregnancy hormones have made me into a raging emotional basketcase of a person that I barely recognize.  In some ways, though, it is good, because it's not like I didn't have these emotions before.  I just never would have copped to them. Wow.

**In an earlier version of this post, I failed to mention this part, giving the misleading impression that Speedy did not acknowledge my birthday at all, which is not what I meant to imply.
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Anyway, thank you for your concern & compassion and all your comments about Mama S.  It turns out she will be going to the baby shower.  I have mixed feelings about this, because I am afraid of what she will say or do to hurt Speedy & me.  But at least the effort is being made, anyway.  It is one of those things that is a lose-lose proposition: either she doesn't come and we both feel hurt, or she does come and we worry and stress about what she will say or do to make us miserable.  For as much as I adore my mother, my family is just not that close, and so we don't have these tangled, emotional games to play with each other.  This is altogether new territory to me.

I hope Speetus will shift some things, but I have no expectation of that actually happening.  The other grandkids are spoiled according to their position on a very clear hierarchy (as decreed by Mama S) and I suspect that Speetus will fall to the bottom of that pecking order upon arrival.  But I guess that is something we will have to face when we get there.  As many of you noted, there is still room for surprise!


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And HOLY EARLY BABY DAY!!  Congratulations to Cindy and Joey and Aiden & Seth!

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Oh, and because I sometimes feel like a Grinchy freak for hating the October pinkathon of corporate-sponsored-breast-cancer-awareness-so-you-must-buy-our-swag month of consumerism dressed up in fashionable fuschia-tinged-faux-philanthropy, I bring you Twisty.