Tomorrow Is Another Day...

Tormented by Timing

Timing is everything these days.  Two weeks left in our house.  Less than a month left in Washington.  One month until we visit our families for the holidays.  A month and a half until we close on our new house.  And that's just the moving related timing.

Lately I've been starting to think very hard about the future.  As my life is currently scheduled out, I will take the next term off of school to deal with the move.  I was hoping to return to class in January, but because I get a reduced military tuition, I have to take off the entire term, meaning I won't return until March.  That will put me finishing classes at the end of August, and *hopefully* beginning my 16-week student teaching period from September through December of next year.

At which point I will begin looking for an actual teaching job.  In a county that just laid off all of its first-year teachers and is now hiring back RIF-ed teachers and those laid off first year teachers before even looking at any outside applicants.  In a county that is not even currently in need of substitute teachers.

If I am *lucky* I'll be able to find a teaching job for the 2011/2012 school year.  At which point I will be just months away from turning twenty-nine.

And let me let you in on a little secret.  I've been thinking a lot about babies lately.  And I don't think I'm the only one in my household whose mind has edged a little closer to that track.  Am I ready to start popping out infants the moment we get to Charleston?  No.  But am I thinking it's a little unlikely that I'll actually want to hold out another 4 years or so until we're settled into our next assignment?  Yes.

Another factoid that is less than a secret is that I have no desire to be a working mother.  I place absolutely no judgment on those who ARE working mothers, and in fact I appreciate their decision at least in part for the fact that it's currently keeping me in a job.  But I've worked in daycares off and on for my whole life.  They can be really wonderful environments for a child, but that's just not how I want my child raised.  We're lucky enough that Colby's job could support a family independently, so it is my hope that I can be home with our children.

But are we seeing how the time lines are starting to get a little mangled at this point?  If I finish school and start teaching in the fall of 2011, that's right around the time that I'm starting to think I may want to get pregnant.  And so I sit here wondering, have I just thrown away all of this money on my education?  Is it the right thing to continue spending thousands of dollars on a Masters degree that, it is beginning to look highly likely at this point, I'll never get to use?

I honestly don't know what to do.  There's a big part of me that feels completely disappointed in myself.  Why did I wait so long to pursue my teaching dreams?  Why can't I be a more modern gal and be okay with the idea of working and raising a family?  If I don't stay in school, what the hell am I going to do with myself for the next few years until I actually manufacture a child?  Am I just being a giant quitter?  I have no idea.

I've got just over three months to figure this out, and if the speed at which the past three months have flown by is any indication, that is no time at all.  Maybe it's time to pull out that Magic 8 Ball?

Six

Every now and then, when more than a week has gone by without updating the blog, I get to thinking that maybe it's just too much of a hassle and I should just go ahead and ditch it like every journa or diaryl I have ever written.  But then I forget a rather important, pressing detail of my life, like, just for example of course, how long exactly Colby and I have been together.  You know, it seems like it might be six years, but that couldn't possibly be right because I'm just not that old, right?  But then I can do a little research and find a post from three years ago about how we've been together for three years, and well, you know, the sanity and peaceful sleep that comes with the ability to retrace my steps like that--you just can't buy that peace of mind at Target!

So, I carry on blogging.

Six years.  That means that we've been together for more than 20% of my life--ever since I was just a wee pup of 19 years old.  I'm three years older than he was when he started dating, and holy hell, I thought he was just about the most grown up, mature, OLDEST dude ever.  Even my little sister is older than that now.

We talk a lot about the future.  It makes me laugh sometimes to remember how difficult it was to get him to open up about "where do you see us in five years?" when we were dating and I was desperate for a commitment, or even the hint of one.  Now we toss around the idea of having babies and moving to far off locales and where we want to retire like we're discussing what movie we want to go see.  It feels so natural and completely organic that we'll have all of these experiences together.

Life is a little overwhelming right now.  We're both a little stressed at work and in our respective graduate programs.  The economy is taking it's toll in the form of a continuously diving house value and we are dealing with the uncertainty of having no clue where in the world we will live at this time next year.  I haven't had the time or energy to reconnect with many of my friends lately, and I feel a little bit of the lonely winter sadness creeping around my heart.

Colby asked me the other day if I had changed my mind about ever wanting to have kids.  The full weight of just how incredibly difficult it is to deal with children hits me every single day.  And every night I come home from taking care of and disciplining other people's kids and thank the good Lord above that I can just veg out on the sofa and watch tv without having to worry about taking care of anyone else.  I can just sit, snug in the crook of my husband's arm and feel perfectly content.

I don't know when I'll know that I want to have kids.  Right now, building a family seems rather like the prospect of college did when I was in grade school.  Something that I knew that I was going to to do, but no concrete ideas of exactly when or how I would get there.  I want to be a better person before I have kids.  I want to do the laundry on a regular basis, keep the house clean, and be the wife that gets dinner on the table every night, and doesn't have to be scolded to eat her vegetables.  I want to finish school and actually use my degree for a little while and then take a break so that I can stay home.  I've seen a lot in my short time working at daycare facilities, and as great a program as I think we have, the working mom and dad lifestyle is not what I want for my children.

But I'm just not ready to give up my life for them yet.  I remember sitting in the parking lot of Colby's apartment when he lived in Georgia, about four years ago.  We were in my car, saying our goodbyes when he suddenly stopped talking and gazed steadily into my eyes.

"Our children will have beautiful eyes."

What I didn't know at the time was that we still had years of tumult and distance ahead of us.  What I did know was that he was right and that some day those theoretical children would become a reality.  And even now, six years after he shyly asked me to be his Valentine, as he was dropping me off after our first date, and four years after that out of character moment in the parking lot, I know that some day he will be right.  And when that time comes, whether I'm serving up four course meals or just barely managing to pour cereal and milk into a bowl, I know that our children will have the most beautiful eyes in the world.

Confessions

There are some couples that when I find out they are getting a divorce, I am very sad, but also not very surprised.

My opinion of how "fat" or "thin" I am completely depends on how well a pair of pants fit, not how I look in the mirror.

I still really, really want a boob job, but have put off thinking about it until post-babies.  Every time I try on a shirt or a dress, or put on another 34A bra that I can't completely fill out, I reconsider that decision.

Whenever I realize that a blogger is about to launch into a political post, I click away from the blog.  I get enough of that in "real life".

I'm pretty sure if Playboy offered me 2 million dollars to pose in their magazine, I'd do it.  I would, however, require a LOT of airbrushing.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really feel ready to have kids.  I always thought that I'd have my first child at 26.  That happens in three months and I know it's not what I want right now.

That makes me feel guilty for thinking that traveling and new shoes are more important than bringing a new life into the world.

I have written seventy pages of a book that I feel has great potential, but I don't think that I have the talent to make it as good as it should be.  I haven't so much as looked at the file on my computer for seven months, but I think about it every night when I'm lying in bed.

I am terrified of dying, because I am not completely sold on the concept of Heaven.  I wish I could make myself believe that we don't just cease to exist upon death.

Whenever I meet someone new, I always rate my attractiveness against theirs.  Completely shallow, completely automatic.

I always say that I have no regrets.  That is a lie.  I have two of them.  One I can't do anything about now, but the other I can.  I know I probably never will.

It makes me sad that I haven't received birthday or Christmas presents from my last remaining grandmother for the past few years.  I understand her reasoning, but the twelve-year-old in me is disappointed each year.

I don't like The Notebook.

Quarter Life Crisis: Round Two

My struggles with depression and attempts to define myself have been pretty well documented here over the past few years.  Sometimes, when I want a really surreal trip down memory lane, I just click over there on that depression category, and I read the posts that were written just over a year ago, and I feel like I'm reading about someone else's life.  My method of coping with those memories has been to just completely erase 2006 and late 2005 from my mind.  It was a pretty dark period in my life, and I don't really like to look back.

Lately though, I've been looking back.  I've been trying to gauge what I've been feeling lately against what I was feeling then.  Checking my Crazy Barometer if you will.  The last thing I want to do is put Colby through the hell of an unmedicated, depressed Angela, so every morning I lick my finger and test the winds of Crazy, trying to determine if what I'm feeling is really depression rearing its ugly head once more, or just confusion.

The thing is, I don't feel like driving my car off of an overpass, I don't lay in bed crying every night, and I don't feel like a totally empty shell of a person.  Yes I'm a little grumpier than usual, and yes, my patience is a little shorter than it should be, but I don't feel like it's time to start medicating my brain again.  And yet, still I don't feel quite right.

Then I found this post, from almost two years ago, and it hit me.  That's exactly what this is.  I'm going through my Quarter Life Crisis version 2.0.  I thought it was over and done with, that I had come to terms with who I am as a person, but I'm beginning to think that these little existential crises just never really stop happening.  All of those things I questioned then--whether I would ever find true love, whether I would ever be a published writer, whether I really belonged in the military--have been answered.  I thought that once I was married, published, and a civilian, everything would fall into place.  Magically, my life would have meaning, and I would know why I was put on this earth.

Thing is though?  I'm just as lost now as I was then.  Only now I'm even more confused, because all this time I just thought that if I could accomplish X, Y, and Z, everything would be perfect and I would never have to question my role in life again.

But now I'm once again on the brink of unemployment, spending my afternoons trolling through job listings, waiting for something to jump out at me.  Waiting to feel a pull in a certain direction.  Who will I be next?  What is my calling in life?  What if my calling in life already happened, and I was too busy watching Dancing with the Stars to pay attention?  What is wrong with me that never in my life have I had any sort of passion for a career?  Sure, there's writing, but I haven't done such a great job of making a career out of that.   I've always wanted three things:  to be a wife, a mother, and a writer.  I have two out of three of those things under my belt, and I still feel like I'm floundering.

So then I start wondering once more, am I supposed to be a mom now?  If that's the only thing left that I've always wanted, is that what I'm supposed to do now?  Once every two or three weeks, that starts to sound like a really great idea.  It is generally after I've spent some time with a very well behaved child, or wandered aimlessly through the Target baby section.  I start to feel those maternal twinges, and I think, "Yes, this is what I need."  But then I spend a weekend sleeping in until 10:30, lounging on the couch all day watching America's Next Top Model marathons, planning our trip to Italy and future dream trips to Costa Rica and Paris, and I think, "No, actually, I think this is what I need.  This and a Cadbury Cream Egg will do nicely, thank you."

In two years will I look back on this entry, and laugh sardonically as I hoist a baby on my hip and try to do ten loads of laundry one handed while Colby is deployed to Madrid for 6 months?  How's that for your life long dream, Ang.  Good job pinning all of your hopes on this!  Will I ever have that lightning bolt moment where I realize, "This is IT.  This is your life!  Embrace it!"  Or am I going to spend the rest of my life wondering what the hell I'm doing and if I left the gas on at home?

Failing Pretty Much Everyone Around Me

Coworkers.  Never before have so many people at work commented on projects that they'll need my help with "soon" or "in the future".  Never in my time here have people made me feel like a such a necessary cog to this operation.  Never have I felt so incredibly guilty about something that hasn't even happened yet.  I'm struggling mightily with the decision to wait another week and a half before giving my notice, because I feel like such a horrible person each time I nod and smile as someone commits me to a project down the road.  But Colby and I still have to sit down and examine our finances more closely, and he doesn't get home for another week.  I know I need to wait, but every day I feel a little bit worse.

Fellow bloggers.  I'm supposed to be guest posting for Bre today while she's in London, but I can't figure out her instructions for logging into her blog.  It seems like such a simple task, no?  Yes, that's what I thought too, so I didn't test it out before she left.  Now I'm sitting with a drafted entry and lacking the brain cells that are necessary to understanding how to post it.  I know I'm not really all that important, and her blog will probably survive without me, but I hate to promise something and then not follow through.

Friends.  I owe phone calls to pretty much every single friend in my address book, but each evening, I sit down on the train and opt to fall asleep rather than dialing the phone.  Seriously, what the heck is wrong with me that I HATE talking on the phone so much?  Why can't we all just correspond by email, text messages, and smoke signals?  I miss my friends, and love them, and would so much rather just hang out than come up with riveting phone conversation for 30 minutes.  Why do they have to live so far away?

Jack and Ellie.  You want to go for a walk?  You want to play after dinner?  You want to lay on the floor and get your bellies rubbed?  Well, how about you just sit here next to the couch so that I can half-heartedly scratch your head while zoning out to the Pussycat Dolls Present: Girlicious.  Well, okay, I guess I'll feed you your dinner.  To everyone out there who seems to think I'm ready for kids?  Jack and Ellie would like to voice their vehement disagreement.

My Eye. I seem to have gotten some tiny grain of something stuck between my eye and my eyelid, and no amount of blinking, flushing with cool water, or forced tears will do anything about evacuating it from the premises.  It huuuuuuuurts!

Just a Brief Note

I'm pretty slammed today, so I won't have time to do my cheery PollyAnna post, but I just wanted to let you all know to please stop shipment on any onesies or receiving blankets until further notice.

You all scared the ever loving crap out of me yesterday with all of your giggly pregnancy comments, and then things progressed to the point that my MOTHER was emailing me inquiring as to my latest cycle.  I was having nightmares of a two week trip to Italy in which I wouldn't be allowed to drink wine and would spend my days puking all over the Colosseum and the Sistine Chapel.  I took a page out of the Book of Blair and continuously gave myself the strictest of instructions to NOT be pregnant.

And lo, the most sophisticated piece of technology I will ever pee on, assured me that no, I am not currently with child.  And it did so in under two minutes with a remarkably easy to read digital display. 

As a side note, while perusing my selections, I had to wonder who would put their trust in a store brand 3-pack for $10.99 with a mark down to $8.99.  When a stick is telling you whether or not there is a HUMAN BEING currently residing in your womanly areas, don't you want to invest a little bit more up front in the hopes of the most reliable response possible?

Adventures in Babysitting

As I said in one of last weeks posts, I was really dreading this past weekend.  I was in charge of our squadron's childcare program during our annual airshow, so I was facing two days with a herd of children and no day off from work for 11 days straight.  Lord, but am I looking forward to our day off on Friday.

With that being said, I surprised myself with how much fun I ended up having and how quickly the time flew.  When the time came to leave on Sunday, I was actually a little sad and I've really missed the kids and thought a lot about them since the weekend.  One of my airmen came in and told me that her two year old son had been asking her repeatedly if he could go back to his "new school", and that got me more than a little choked up.

I don't know if it's the common factor of all the kids having military parents, maybe they're more disciplinary with their children than most, or that the kids were used to the daycare environment, but there was not on bratty kid in the entire mix.  They were all happy, played well with the other kids, followed instructions, and were very polite.  I'm just so used to the kids I see in WalMart throwing tantrums and screaming at their parents, or the kids that I used to babysit for that were sneaky and mischeivous (not in a good way!) that turned me off on ever wanting to be a parent--to see children behaving well, even when their parents weren't around was astounding to me.  And I'd be lying if I said it didn't kick my maternal instinct into high gear.

There was one little boy that I was seriously considering packing away in my tote bag and bringing home with me.  If my dog, Jack, were a human little boy, this is the little boy that he would be.  He was extremely lovable, very solemn at first glance, but the more you got to know him the more giggly and outgoing he became.  He still couldn't talk, but he wobbled around the room laughing most of the day and pitching himself on the floor to scream for a minute everytime I left the room.  I definitely want little girls someday, but if I have boys, I just hope they're as adorable as that little guy.

I also noticed that many of my disciplinary mechanisms I used with my dogs translated pretty well to toddler speak.  A sharp "No!" while clapping my hands once got their attention far better than a "Don't do that" and very high pitched, excited praise when they did something good elicited the biggest grins of pleasure and pride. 

If only toddlers could be crate trained, I think I'd be ready for babies right this second.  However, they can't, and Jack and Ellie have already destroyed enough of my things by chewing, peeing, and pooping all over them, so I'm fairly certain that it'll be quite a bit longer before I decide to enter into the hallowed halls of motherhood.

(And because I am just not capable of writing a post without some kind of mindless celebrity gossip, go here and rejoice!  Okay girlie, it's time to bring it on home!  Mama wants a new platinum record!)

Smallish, Underage People Are Scary

Sometimes I go through stages where I'm almost overwhelmed with maternal instincts.  In the past I've quelled these instincts by getting a dog, but I feel that I've reached my limit with two volatile and completely insane furry animals in an 800 square foot area.  The Puppies are indeed getting better about listening to me--when I have a treat in my hand, or at least within reach--but they still are definitely masters of their own domain.  Which I'm fine with, as long as their domain is limited to outside and I don't have to chase after Ellie who has found another sock to bait me with.  And I think that my goal is not so much to bend them to my will so much as it is to slowly but surely whittle their domain down to nothing so that eventually when they're masters of their own domain it really doesn't mean jack.  Ha!  Fooled them!

Anyway, a coworker recently gave birth in quite possible the most insanely easy pregnancy I've ever heard of in my entire life.  She was never nauseous, no insane cravings to speak of, a touch of insomnia, but really the only way you'd know she was pregnant was the fact that it looked like she had a beachball stuck up her BDU blouse.  She never had any complaints and didn't ever seem to be in the least bit stressed about the pregnancy.  When she went in for her 8 month appointment a couple of weeks ago she was 50% effaced and her doctor said he didn't expect she'd make it to her next appointment (this is her first child, mind you!).  Luckily we had her shower planned for that weekend, so that was taken in care of in time, but Monday was her next appointment and she did indeed make it to the appointment, she just didn't make it home.  Her doctor informed her that she was having contractions two minutes apart AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT.  She didn't feel a dadburn thing!  So she headed over to the hospital and calmly called everyone to let us know that she wouldn't be at work the next morning.  Um, yes, I think that's acceptable dear.  She then proceeded to have a 5 hour labor in which she never felt a single contraction and had an epidural so that she wouldn't have to feel the 8 pound girl child bursting forth from a pea sized hole.  When we went to see her the next day she looked tired, but wasn't sore at all and proudly showed off her beautiful baby girl.  I think if all pregnancies and births worked like that there would be about 75% more people populating the earth.

So we admired little Raegan, smelled her head, curled her hand around our fingers, watched her squawk and turn all red and angry when we unswaddled her to see the whole package--it was great, and I definitely felt those maternal instincts kicking in full force, but mainly because I knew at the end of the visit I'd be able to hand over that tiny little person and go back to my own life where my biggest responsibility is remembering to take Ellie outside every 30 minutes since her bladder apparently has the ability to hold no more than a sip of water.  And I know that when I've had enough of Jack's antics and misbehaving I can just toss him outside and let him stick his head between the slats of the balcony and watch the world go by while I catch up on Gilmore Girls reruns.

So, as mushy gushy as infants make me feel, I have a feeling that it will be a GOOD LONG TIME before I'm ready to introduce one of them into the world.  Because I'm not sure, but I think throwing babies into kennels and locking them in there while you go out shoe shopping is probably frowned upon, in our society at least.

Mother May I

Okay, I feel safe saying this right now since Colby is away and doesn’t have access to a computer for awhile, but a strange thing started happening to me recently. I can’t really explain it, and honestly it scares the pants off of me. I’m surrounded by pregnancy at work, my coworker’s wife, half of the girls on our admin staff, one of the chiefs who just retired, an old commander of mine, and so on and so forth… It’s like it’s in the water, so maybe that has something to do with it, but I have been having the most insane maternal urges for the past couple of months.

Up until just a few months ago, I was violently opposed to the idea of having children before I was in my very late 20s or early 30s, I was constantly irritated by kids at the movies, in stores, anywhere that there were children present concurrently with myself. I grew up babysitting at least once or twice a week, and absolutely loved kids, but I figured I’d just hit burnout. Then my older sister had two beautiful children, who I love to pieces, but being a mother just seemed so HARD, and I wanted nothing to do with that. I loved that I could play with them and spoil them and then send them packing once they started acting up.

But truly, over the past couple of months anytime someone brings up a baby or child I just get all melty inside, and when I went to buy some baby clothes for a friend I nearly cried in the middle of Target holding these little wee socks. And having Jack in my life, as many pennies as that little guy has cost me, (the only mention of him, I promise!) has filled up this emptiness that I didn’t even realize I had inside me, so I can only imagine how incredible having a child would be.

Perhaps it’s just a side effect of growing up and entering “the real world” if you will, and maintaining a happy relationship with a man who I can actually envision as a father rather than just the current boyfriend (now watch, I’ve jinxed everything). Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve done so many of “the things I want to do before I have kids”—travel, live on my own, save money, settle down, etc.

Obviously I’m not planning on running out tomorrow and getting knocked up. I still have a life of my own that I want to lead before introducing children into my crazy world, but really the concept doesn’t horrify me as much as it did once, and that makes me incredibly happy. I felt so coldhearted having such an aversion to children when I’d once loved them so much, so I feel much more like myself now. Now, I’ll be preaching a different story when that little twit behind me in the movie theater keeps kicking my chair, but I’ll probably be a lot less likely to turn around and hiss at him with daggers shooting from my eyes.

So, anyway, don’t start panicking and calling the closest asylum to have me checked in. For my entire life I’ve worked this way. One second I’m completely obsessed with an idea and the next I’ve forgotten about it entirely. More than likely by next month I’ll be completely turned off by the thought of children again… not that the thought of children actually turns me on right now, because that’s actually quite perverse and punishable by incarceration, but you know, anyway. Probably next month I’ll be possessed by the urge to buy a chicken or something.& Besides, I’ve not even gotten the man in my life convinced that marriage sounds like a good idea, I think if I started talking kids he might go into hiding in the wilds of Washington state.