Oh, Internet, I am fond of you.
Now, may I wander way off-topic if I promise to eventually wind my way back to the point of this post?
Over the last few months I have had countless people tell me how good I look. My own husband said the following words to me right after I lamented about the dreaded pregnancy weight gain: "I don't care if you are 200 pounds, you are carrying my child, and you're beautiful." I have posted flickr pictures WHILE PHYSICALLY CRINGING because on the one hand, I want a record of this time no matter how I look, but on the other, more insecure hand, I don't feel fantastic, so how can I expect you to tell me I look fantastic?
And, yet, you tell me. You tell me I look fantastic. You tell me Mike and I seem to have it all together and will be just fine once the boy arrives. You compliment and boost my ego and pat my back.
You are quite the group to keep around.
But then, one person comments on how much bigger than 24 weeks I look and all of your nice words are swept aside and her comment resonates (loudly and repeatedly) in my mind.
I can't help but feel ginormous because of what she said, and yet your sweet words never made me feel glow-y and adorably pregnant. Why is that?
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Today, at the post office, a postal worker went so far out of her way to help me choose an envelope for my letter, I wanted to buy her lunch. She was responsive and kind and warm. Then, when I got to the counter to pay, the cashier was cold and rude and snappy, saying that the peel-off label was "SELF-EXPLANATORY. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN IT." I bitched about the rude woman ALL THE WAY TO LUNCH and had completely forgotten about the first woman's out-of-the way kindness. Why is that?
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Someone left a comment the other day that was just slightly rude, probably not even obviously rude but rude to the sensitive pregnant girl. I was irked for hours (even whining to Mike about how I was totally misunderstood and blogging is so haaaaard). Yet, today, Kristin left me one of the nicest comments I've ever received and although I thanked her, I also immediately realized I most likely wouldn't hang onto her comment as long as I hung onto the slightly snarky comment from the other day. Why is that?
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I don't know about you, but I feel like rudeness is everywhere these days. (Oprah agrees, by the way.) The cashier at the grocery store can't even crack a smile. No one can get off their cellphones long enough to have actual face-to-face conversations. There is unrelenting judgment for people who are making different choices than us. I received an email forward today prompting I should "Say No to B.O." because he's a "terrorist" and is "so calm, he must be a robot." It's not that I don't respect someone's right to think these things, but when these thoughts show up in my inbox without consideration for my political views (or, hell, consideration for my annoying spam views), I feel there's a sensitivity check missing. It's not that the world is void of kindness, it's just that it's so easy to overlook it when its polar opposite is slapping us in the face.
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A lot of things prompted this post, but mostly I'm just tired of clinging to the swirling negative thoughts and actions that are all around if you look for them. They're everywhere, it's true. But don't you think they're not going anywhere because so many of us—instead of combating all the bullshit with other things—cling tightly and purse our lips and whine and moan?
The girl (me) who can't get over the shit being slung is just as bad as whoever is slinging the shit, don't you think?
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In my post yesterday, I said something about how the only thing I've really learned about marriage is that you have to be nice to one another. Obviously that's not the only thing, but I think it encompasses the rest fairly well. Keeping in that same simplistic vein, the only thing I really want my son to be is kind. Sure, I'd love for him to read and to have his dad's hair color and to laugh with his whole body, but when it comes down to it, I want my child to be kind, and I think kindness encompasses a lot of other really great and important things.
But how can I expect my son to choose kindness when I'm still clinging to the one sort of prickly comment about looking at tad rounder than I should look?
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And, hell, it's not like she didn't sort of have a point:
The belly is totally one ice-cream bar way from taking over my laptop.