Great Expectations?

The trouble for me with blogging is that I have a million things I want to say .. a million things that would be so therapeutic to express .. and a giant, booming inner voice that is constantly judging what my fingers are itching to type.

"Nobody cares what you think," it yells at me.
"Nobody really wants to know your innermost feelings - that's what a journal is for!"
"Be careful," it warns. "You will probably offend so-and-so if you say that."

And on, and on, and on.

So I sit to write, and my thoughts freeze up. I prejudge what I'm about to write. I decide to write about something else. I delete. I try to write about what I think people might be interested in. And I realize I can't win, because I don't know who is reading this blog, or what they find interesting, or whether their expectation is to know the current weather conditions in Portland or my feelings on Isaiah Washington's accusations surrounding his firing despite the fact that I've never watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy ...

The deeper issue is that I have a problem with expectations. Wanting to meet the expectations of the people that I love, even without really knowing what they are, and blowing them up in my mind to disproportionately huge and unsurmountable demands.

It's silly, but very real, and horrifically, embarrassingly paralyzing.

Which is a simplified explanation of why I don't blog as often as I'd like.

I want to blog more. And I'd like to change my focus from being on the reader to being on me. Because it's my stupid blog. My readers can write their own stupid blogs. If I want to rant, I should rant. If I want to emote, I should feel free to do that. If I never want to post a picture of my cats or my house or my oodles of nieces and nephews, then I shouldn't.

All big talk, really, because I'll never not edit myself. But you get the idea.

In my last post, I ranted. Past rants have really never been commented on (which is another topic for another day), but this one was. I was so encouraged by Mike and Judy's comments. They made me feel heard and understood. It felt like someone "got" me.

And I think that's always been my ultimate goal for this blog. To give people a chance, if they want it, to "get" me. Not that I'm so very complex or that I live such an absorbing life ... but if that's what I want to try to accomplish here, well:

It's. My. Stupid. Blog.

If I say it enough times, maybe I'll give myself permission to act on it.

Stay tuned.

Boys Are Stupider ... Send Them To Jupiter

I talked to an expectant mother, the wife of one of Steve's teammates, at his softball game tonight. This will be their second child. Their first is a 21-month-old boy that she spent much of the game chasing after.

She only has 8 weeks left in her pregnancy. They haven't found out the baby's gender yet, and intend for it to be a surprise. I found this incredibly refreshing. I think that once we become adults, there are very few genuine surprises in life. Hearing "it's a girl!" or "it's a boy!" at the moment a baby enters the world seems to me one of the utmost wonderful surprises a person could ever experience. My new-found respect for this couple was quickly shattered, however, when I asked if they allowed their son to be a surprise, as well. Her reply, "No", was not in and of itself upsetting, but rather their reason for finding out.

Her husband needed to know the gender the first time because, if they weren't having a boy, he needed time. To prepare himself. For the huge disappointment a girl would have been.

Now that he has his boy, he couldn't care less what the next child is.

He has his little "mini-me". The precious offspring to carry on his beloved family name. The boy who will fulfill all of the dreams that his stupid, inept father couldn't in his lifetime. The boy that I secretly hope grows up to study ballet rather than baseball, who turns out to be gay and produces no grandchildren for this SOB.

Yes, I'm angry. No, it doesn't affect me personally. But it astounds and enrages me that we live in the USA in the year 2007 and people STILL place so much more value on boys than girls. This is neither a time nor culture in which I would expect people to abort their baby girls until they produce a first-born male ... until I hear garbage like this.

No, I didn't spit judgment and venom out on this unsuspecting new acquaintance. I couldn't just let the conversation die at that, however. "My husband needed time. To prepare himself if it wasn't a boy." Gah!!! The rest of the conversation went something like this:

Me: What would he have done if it WAS a girl?
Her: Oh, I don't know! Tee hee!
Me: Are girls so bad? YOU'RE a girl! He seems to like you well enough to, well, you know ... (wink, wink)
Her: To be honest, I'm terrified of raising a girl!
Me: Why?? Remember, YOU'RE a girl? Are girls soooo bad?
Her: Well, once I turned 13 (blah blah blah ...)
Me: They're all terrible when they're 13. My perspective is different, I suppose, because my brother presented some unique parenting challenges that my sister and I did not. (blah blah blah ...)

What's really ridiculous is that I've had a similar conversation with almost every one of my girlfriends. About how they would be happy with either gender, but if forced to choose they would choose a boy. It makes me sad - and yes, mad - that these women, consciously or not, abhor parts of their femininity so much that they do not want to pass it on. It infuriates me that women choose to have kids with men who childishly and selfishly cling to the notion that "boys are better than girls".

Steve has a female co-worker who married a fellow cop a year ago. They were not planning on having children. His father recently passed away, however, and this has changed his perspective. He now wants to have children. She still does not. It seems that, in order to save her marriage, she may soon cave. That is an intensely personal decision to make and a position that I do not envy. But here is where I take exception and yes, place judgment: he has told her, in all seriousness, "I don't want to have children. I just want to have a son."

Words escape me. All I can think is that in his grief, he is reflecting on how much he loved his father. And now he wants to produce someone who will love him with the same intensity (and he in return). Ultimately, he wants to guarantee that his son will grieve as bitterly at his funeral as he did at his own father's.

If I never see either of these men again, it will be too soon.

Chances are, dear reader, that you think I'm taking this all just a little too far. That's okay. I can practically guarantee that I think you don't go far enough. Maybe someday, once I've cooled down and you're feeling brave, we can try to meet halfway.