Exclusively Roman

There is no feeling more surreal than realizing you are so close to meeting your offspring. I never expected i'd be feeling so simultaneously mixed all at once. Euphoria, at the prospect that tomorrow, by lunchtime, it's likely that i'll be holding my little baby boy. And riddled with nerves, of course, that i'm not prepared enough to deal with even the necessities of child rearing, much less setting the example for how this little person will grow up to interact with the world. I've dutifully read every Parenting, Baby Talk, and Maternity magazine subscribed to me in the past nine months, checked my Babygaga religiously to ensure that I took care of myself whilst my little bambino was developing inutero, and also signed up for the Forums, to gain some introspect of motherhood, and young motherhood, but I still feel as if there's so much I don't know, and can't possibly know, that I must learn from experience alone.I sit here, and I ricochet off the walls od my room. Sunshine walls, Hello Kitty plush, My Little Pony, Winnie the Pooh, and wonder how my own transition from Nursery dweller to young adult, and mother happened so quickly, seemingly overnight, and now, every decision regarding the life of another begins with me. It's a daunting feeling, but i'm as ready as i'll ever be. I wish that I had that extra week or two that we had counted on, but for the safety of me and Roman, i'm more than willing to sacrifice that luxury. I'd also love to know that George and I won't suffer from this. I won't go on the cliche soulmate rant, but I can honestly say that i've never met anybody, male or female, young or old, that I seem to be as compatible with as I am with George. We've been together for over six months, and my heart still surges and plunges simultaneously, when I first see him after our designated week apart, and i'm just worried that the stress of this new situation will drive us apart, rather than bring us even closer together. We both love little Roman to pieces, and regardless of all these little grievances, we can't wait to meet him, to hold him, and to have our god-given chance of parenting this little miracle. Here's to the last day of just the two of us, and to an upcoming new day of us three! I'm going into the hospital tonight, at three centimeters dilated, to take a pill that will ripen my cervix overnight. They're starting the Iv-drip early tomorrow morning, and because of how close Roman is to the opening, anticipate that he'll be here before Lunch.

Say it ain't so.

This night, I am sitting here contemplating the seemingly infinite possibilites for my life. Today, as I drove back with my little sister with a greasy little treasure chest of Long John Silver's chicken and KFC's mashed potatoes, I gained an unespected little nuggest of insight from an incredibly unlikely source. It was from a little country ditty Carrisa had kept me from changing because she liked the song, and the line went something like 'I learned that happiness isn't just for high achievers', a truth that seems blatantly obvious, when probed from shallow depths, but is incredibly mind-blowing, once you begin to delve down into the conceptions of happiness. Personal reflection time. What makes me happy, and why? Well, to remain objective and honest, I seek out my happiness through association. I write hesitantly, crafting extreme detail, and creating exquisite little literary wonders so that if perhaps a group were discussing talented writers, my name might come up. Likewise with hardworking teenage mothers. People would profess that I am an entirely selfless and admirable individual, for doing what I have to do in order to guaranteed the best possible outcome for myself and my son, but is it really all that selfless? I exert myself for my son, and eschew all excuses that may worm themselves into my head for his sake without a shadow of a doubt. But not entirely. Is it such a sin that I, like every other aspiring human being just starting out am clawing just as hard toward the top? That these wasted years, this sudden wake from that long, rolling sleep of worthlessness and solitude have to now be countered with productivity and success? I'm not egotistical to such an extent where I want to be the only one achieving, or even want to achieve the highest, be it house of greatest grandeur, most repeated name in the community, or even highest paycheck. I just want.. a situation to be 'wowed' at. A positive example, of a person overcoming odds so typical, yet so characteristically ruining, that other sincere girls, however rare they may be, will hesitate only briefly before following in my footsteps. I want to help by leading, yet I hope that all of that will come in good time. I can only pray that my happiness doesn't ride on eventual success, that this moderate contentment, this domestic bliss will last me all throughout my days, the proud and the shameful, and eventually allow me to be a bit easier on myself and the ones that I love.

What you don't have, you don't need it now.

Voila. So here it is. A modest little blog, with a single follower. Why i'm doing this, I can't say that I have a facisimile of a cule. Perhaps because i'm so sick of masquerading, day after day, keeping my humor, my sarcasm, my joy, my excitement, every bit of it in check to keep from appearing utterly bizarre publicly. This is my one trump, over all the times the urge posessed me to leap up out of my desk in a flourish in class, and trumpet Blink 182's "The Party Song" to the entire class. But I don't. Instead, I sit in my designated throne, talking mostly to those people doled out to me, based on vocabulary, intelligence, or common interest, and subconsciously wonder what else is out there. Don't get me wrong. There are times when I realize that these recurring characters in my life, those school mates who can't exactly be called the Lassies of my life but who I find sticking to me like glue during school hours nonetheless are really the best matches for me, I can't help but simultaneously ponder the possibilities.. Of forging an irrevocable bond with somebody completely unlikely. This might make more sense if the people associated with me were more conventional, and conservative, but that isn't even the case. People like Sasha Perez, Jordan Springer, and Holly Poole can hardly be considered the norm. However, as cliche as this sounds, I wonder how many of the norm are actually the norm? What if i'm completely missing out on a shining trinket of a personality, and I won't even be granted the simple grace of ever knowing it? Which is why I should be that much more thankful for the enthralling and the not so enthralling people in my life, but still, i'm haunted by what I may be missing out on. So many souls, so many talented, beautiful, vibrantly electrifying souls, the likes of which I may never know by chance or, and this is the painful part, may never know because they aren't interested in knowing me. I'm tired of people pairing off into couples like animals in heat, and feigning compassion, sympathy, and love simply because they understand that that's what is required in order for them to survive in the society we've made so complex, and socially oriented. There's a saying that goes "We point out the flaws in others that we despise in ourselves". Is that me? Am I filled with contempt for myself, for being fiercely protective and zealous over George, allthewhile neglecting those other vital components in my life? The answer is yes and no. Yes, I know that I do it, and i'm filled with disgust for it. But no. I'm so disgusted, not because i'm void of emotion for anyone else, but because I truly love the other people in my life, and hate that passion overrides all else with me, and I unintentionally neglect them.