I thought we were going to make this blog funny. So far, it’s not that funny. Or at least my parts aren’t. I consider us to be funny people, which is why this seemed like a good idea in the first place.
I, for one, have lost my edge. I don’t know when it happened, but I blame the pregnancy. I used to like intense shows like “Breaking Bad,” and movies that were heartbreaking and real and bleak. Now I stream multiple episodes of “Friday Night Lights” every evening, and I turn my head when there are fist fights. Netflix sends old-timey, feel-good, easily-digestible movies to my door.
I’m reading Howard’s End, for chrissake. And, like, childbirth stories.
But maybe it’s not so bad to lose your edge. Last week, I saw a Pure Michigan commercial that showed slow motion, aerial shots of trees turning autumn colors, and I cried. Perhaps I should not have been asking myself, Why am I crying?, but rather, Why have I never cried at such a thing before?
Shouldn’t I WANT to be the type of person who is regularly moved to tears? It felt GOOD to look at those trees and to feel such awe. Why do I fight it? Where did acting cool and smart and untouchable ever get me? What’s the point of keeping my emotions and thoughts to myself?
I still hate crying in front of people, but I imagine, as this edge goes, that’s going to be a necessary casualty as well. Here’s a list of people I hate crying in front of, in order: 1. Anyone, 2. My parents, 3. My husband. I’ve been moved to tears a lot lately, and I’ve been, with one notable exception, hiding it from Jason. I don’t know why. I don’t expect that’ll last a whole lot longer. (There’s a LOT of crying in childbirth, I am learning.)
I guess I’ve been crying in books for the last few years. I also cried so hard during The Fox and the Hound a few years back that I freaked out some of my nieces, who — three, four, and five years old at the time — tried to console me to no avail (“But…but….they CAN’T be friends, isn’t it SO SAD? They CAN’T be friends…” followed by lots of Cowardly-Lion sounds). Maybe my edge has been going for a while.
How’s your edge, Annie?
My edge is GREAT. It’s the edgiest edge that ever edged, baby. Why just last week I drank a fifth of whiskey, punched a kitten in the face and danced til dawn on the bones of my enemies. I harnessed the winds and raced trains with a stolen sailboat. I set a hobo on fire. I jumped in the Detroit river. I won McDonald’s Monopoly FIVE TIMES. I both vowed and exacted vengeance upon those who wronged me. I ate a whole can of Pringles.
I don’t have time to be funny, Amy. I’m too busy LIVING.
There you go, making it funny. I’ll swallow the thought that in my previous life I was funny, and in this one I’m not. You are VERY funny, Annie. It is so good to have friends who can make you laugh.
I miss living almost as much as I miss pooping. And equally as much as I miss talking drunkenly to people in bars and at parties. Or wanting to go out. Or having a desire to “do things,” especially those that involve wearing clothes that are not pajamas and sitting upright. I do yoga a few times a week and do a lot of walking, and there is a fair amount of rallying that has to happen behind both of those activities. We should have started this blog during my second trimester. That trimester looked a lot like what you just described.
That said, I am really glad you are having so much fun, and living life fully. Live for me too! Live for both of us, me and you. And while you’re at it, live a little for the baby. She’s just somewhere between the size of a squash and a honeydew. Consider it the start of your aunthood.
From now on I will call the baby “Honeydew.” Probably even after you actually name her a real name.