G.M.N.R.

There was supposed to be a post between this one and the last one, but somehow (somehow! it wouldn’t have anything to do with copying it from a Word file, deleting the original, and then copying something else before I pasted it, would it? Naaaaah, who would do a thing like that?) it got lost.

It was mushy. It was about how I’ve been in a Good Mood for No Reason and how the weekend was perfect and how much I love my boyfriend.

I guess there is a reason for the GMNR, though. There’s my upcoming business trip to San Francisco (another one!) followed by one to South Beach (no, seriously.) There’s the new 4 lb laptop I bought that’s just so cute and little and adorable and perfect for all that traveling. There’s the nice weather (well, there was nice weather), complete with running in Central Park and walking arm-in-arm with Bateman in Central Park and twirling around with my arms outstretched in Central Park (ok, not really.) And now I’m eating chocolate-stuffed cookies from Argentina, which of course, don’t have calories or fat or anything because people in Argentina? Are gorgeous. (Also? My coworkers are awesome. And generous. And worldly.)

Speaking of which, one of my former coworkers brought her new baby to the office today. She was pregnant when I started here in June, and now she has this beautiful little son. Also, she looks great — which, I’m sad to say, was my first thought … wow, she looks really great, maybe this having a baby thing won’t be so bad.

Coupled with my newfound marriage fever is my newfound baby fever. I’m not sure where the hell it came from, since I’ve spent the last few years terrified – seriously, struck down with panic — at the thought of having children. But now? I don’t know. Maybe it’s Bateman, and being in love. Or maybe it was the colposcopy and the thought that if I’m strong enough to do that, maybe, just maybe, I’m strong enough to do this. Or maybe it’s how much I love my own family — the way I feel when we’re all sitting together in my grandfather’s living room, laughing, and joking, and playfully teasing each other. And in times of crisis, we support each other.

Maybe this is just what it means to be a grown-up. Maybe it’s that.

Anyway, I’m finding it really hard not to be antsy. I feel like I’m in a holding pattern — like until Bateman and I move in together, until he finishes residency, until we dance together at his friend’s wedding in April … I’m just going through the motions. There’s Big Stuff ahead — I can feel it – but until we get to it, I’m finding it really hard to enjoy the here-and-now.

So a GMNR? Dude, I’ll take it.

Same Old, Same Old

I’m bummed because Bateman canceled our plans for tonight. It’s his last night off before he goes back to Hell — I mean residency — and I was looking forward to spending it with him. But he spent the day helping his sister move into her new apartment, and now he’s beat. I understand … kinda. More or less. But I can still be disappointed, right?

I still have some of that residual craziness from the Long Distance Days. I keep having to remind myself that I will see him on SUNDAY, and that’s not a month away like it used to be, but mere days. And yes, we’re reverting to that sucky situation of dating in 36-hour snapshots, but … well, tonight wasn’t really going to change that anyway.

Also, while I don’t like being alone when I’m in pain (is that weird?), I know that Bateman is only 20 minutes away if something goes wrong. And I’m not even in that much pain anymore, I haven’t taken any Advil since last night, and I’m not going to hemorrhage or spark a fever, why did I memorize that stupid informed consent form?

Anyway, I’m going home tomorrow. Well, I’m going to a conference tomorrow, and I’m staying with my parents. They recently moved to Philly, and instead of opting to stay at a hotel and travel on Amtrak, I decided to spend my travel budget on a set of wheels. Going home is good, I guess. And so is driving! So the time between now and Sunday will FLY BY.

Funk

I was fine today – much better than yesterday, anyway, when I was so depressed I could barely leave the house.  I was fine, that is, until my mom called.

“Did you fast?” she asked, meaning for Yom Kippur.  The fact that she even had to ask showed that she already knew the answer.  So I didn’t bother lying.

“No.”

She paused.  “Why not?”  She asked this tentatively, like she didn’t really want to know the answer.  Laughed nervously.

“It’s just not important to me.”

“It used to be important to you.”

Whatever I answered was the equivalent of a shrug.

Then we moved on to the colposcopy.  “Are you going to the doctor this week?”

“I was supposed to,” I said.  “I canceled it.”

“It was supposed to be tomorrow, right?”  She sighed.  “I had a feeling you would.”  She tried to argue, but only half-heartedly.  She sounded almost resigned.  She either knew that she wasn’t going to convince me, or realized that I wasn’t going to go without Bateman and now Bateman  is going back to work.  I stood my ground and tried to sound tough.  I didn’t mention the guilt – how conflicted I feel.  How badly I want a do-over.

Especially because I’m not even entirely sure I want a do-over.  I’m still pretty convinced there’s nothing wrong with me.  I’m just angry at myself for being such a coward.

And then, of course, there’s the issue of Bateman.  I’m hurt that he never once told me to keep the appointment.  Maybe he thought it wasn’t his place to give me medical advice, or he felt awkward, but it came across as uncaring.  Like I was bothering him with something.  And I got the impression that maybe he even feels a little defensive – like: I didn’t give you HPV (even though he probably did) so why should I have to deal with this?

And – typical – he was out of town this weekend, just when I needed him.  Now that he’s home, I’m angry at him on top of everything else.  See, I’ve always had this impression that he says and does everything right … but not this time.  This time he really dropped the ball.  He didn’t even try to make me feel better.  He just suggested I reschedule the appointment (great, when?) or … he didn’t know.  “Well, I don’t know,” he said.

Obviously, I’m really angry at myself.  It’s not really his fault.  But the fact that I had to call my EX-BOYFRIEND of all people for emotional support at a time like this … well, that says something, doesn’t it?

God & Me

It’s Yom Kippur but I’m not fasting.

I’d fast if I had any desire to see my family — but I’m not feeling very festive. And behind closed doors, at least, I’m less religious — less than they even suspect. It’s weird being so out of sync with them on something as important as whether we all believe in god. Sometimes it makes me sad. Even though I think synagogue is boring, and I can barely sit through service without rolling my eyes, I do miss those moments of standing next to my dad as he sang along with his favorite prayers, sitting up a little straighter when he was called to read from the Torah, laughing in a whisper with my sisters, and then feasting on matzoh ball soup, chicken, brisket, and cakes galore at my grandparents’ house.

I don’t know when I became less interested in God. Maybe college, when I was trying on my newfound independence. Maybe it was when my sister married a Hasidic Jew and turned our home life upside down (separate meat and dairy dishes?) Maybe it’s the way Judaism expects women to spend their entire lives pumping out babies. Maybe it’s the way other Jews tend to judge each other — what you wear, what you put in your mouth, how closely you observe the Sabbath.

Bateman and I have the same views about religion — mostly. He’s less conflicted than I am — less angry, less guilty — because he was raised less religious than I was. My mom seems to think I’ll ramp up the Jewishness once I have children. Maybe. Who knows. But for now, I’m seeing how this watered down religion suits me.

For a Sweet New Year

I’m spending Rosh Hashana with Bateman’s family this year. While I’m sad that I won’t get to see my own relatives, I’m pretty excited to be included with his.

A hint at things to come, and so on.

I like them, they seem to like me, it’s a big love fest. (Speaking of which, my parents ADORE Bateman. He’s like the son they’ve always wanted. They barely want to talk to me when he’s around. No, seriously. He fits in more than I do.)

Anyway, I’m obsessing (a bit) over what to bring. You wouldn’t think it would be this hard to find a kosher bakery — or a cute chocolate store — in Manhattan, but, dude, IT IS SO HARD TO FIND A KOSHER BAKERY OR A CUTE CHOCOLATE STORE IN MANHATTAN.

I just needed to get that off my chest.

In Which I Use Lots (and Lots) of Parentheses

I just finished a run in Central Park and I feel good. Strong. Fit. Healthy. Like the only thing wrong with me is a sore ankle and a couple of mosquito bites.

The last three days — driving! poker in Atlantic City! winning at poker in Atlantic City! booking my trip to San Franciso! (and convincing Bateman to come along [as he just-so-happens to be off that week]!) — were perfection. I got to fit in a drunken (and yummy) dinner with one of my closest friends, cuddling with my boyfriend before his 24-hours on-call, a trip down to visit my parents (complete with cars, gambling, and a fancy dinner [also, how cute are my parents that this is how we spend quality time together?]), and a run.

Life is back to good again. So I don’t want any of ya worryin’ about me.

A Rant About Skiing (I Kid You Not)

If there’s one thing you should know about me (or, more specifically, my relationship) it’s that I hate skiing. And my boyfriend has been skiing since he was three. And his family is fanatically zealous in their love of skiing. And his sister went so far as to tell me I couldn’t marry her brother unless I promised to sign up our future children in ski school as soon as they’re old enough. “We’re a skiing family,” she told me. I could not make this up. I am STILL indignent. And even if a) I actually marry Bateman (and, god, are we far from that) and b) I have children with him and c) they learn how to ski — they are never allowed to ski with their aunt. There, I said it. She totally deserves it too.

Anyway, I didn’t always hate skiing. I really wanted to like it. When I found out my birthday present from Bateman was a ski trip, I wanted to be excited. Believe me, I did.

The thing about skiing, though, is that it’s hard to learn. And painful — you’re almost guaranteed to get injured. And I was miserable the entire trip (and when I say “miserable,” I might as well go ahead and admit that I spent most of the day trying unsuccessfully not to cry and the rest of it giving Bateman the silent treatment.) I also know now that I was silly to think I could ever catch up to him in expertise. The best I can hope for is to maybe one day master the bunny slopes. And I still wouldn’t be skiing WITH him — he’ll always be much more advanced.

The night before Bateman and I drove up to the slopes, we went out for sushi. He looked at me with this devilish grin and said, “You don’t HAVE to like this, but it’s better if you do.” He laughed. “You don’t have to like this thing I plan vacations around.” And part of me was tickled because he sees me taking future vacations with him. And part of me felt a sort of cold foreboding.

But back to the trip. I hated it. It was not fun. It left a huge welt on my knee. I was not coordinated and I struggled to learn how to stop and slow down and I felt downright abandoned when he left me at ski school (“adults” 10 and over) for an hour and a half to ski by himself. An hour and a half of pure torture. I scowled and cried my way through it. I was thisclose to being a ski school dropout. I was surely the sulkiest, most miserable student the instructor ever had.

Bateman got defensive later that day when I decided to be nice to him again and admit that I was crying because I felt so much pressure to like skiing. He told me that his comment the night before was “100% kidding,” even though I still don’t believe him. I said that it wasn’t like he twisted my arm — not that kind of pressure — but it’s the understanding that skiing is such a huge part of his life. I think he finally began to understand what I meant when his sister greeted me with a “so skiing?!” with a two-thumbs-up gesture. And offered to let me practice standing around in her ski equipment and excitedly talked up their condo in Vail — a really sweet sentiment, but with the subtext that skiing is something I SHOULD like. And Bateman gently told her not to “pressure” me, using my words. (And then, two months later, when he was out of earshot, she threatened me. With my own children!)

It’s still unsettled. I’m afraid we’ll go through this every winter; he’ll leave me behind while he skis, sometimes in other states. And in a relationship where we’re already so pressed for time together (read: dating a resident), it’s just one more thing to drive a wedge between us.

Seriously, ANYONE

I’m in looo-ove. With, like, the world. My sister had a beautiful baby boy last week, and I got to hold him for the first time today at his bris.

I also fell in love (again) with my adorable relatives, who came out in full force to celebrate with us. And also my adorable boyfriend who actually called the event “fun.” I love that he loves my family. And I love that he loves babies. Seeing his girlfriend holding a newborn didn’t faze him at all – he came over and let the little guy grab onto his finger. Of course, I think he nearly tripped over a chair when my aunt said, “You two look pretty good with a baby.” (He was trying to back away from her as quickly as possible, of course.) But other than that, he was great.

So, OK, I’m not made of stone here. I can say at one moment that I never want to have kids, and then one week later get all mushy when my boyfriend tells me he loves me, proceeds to fit seamlessly into my family, and then takes to my infant nephew like a pro. (And poses for pictures with the kid nonetheless.) And my dad’s cousin told my mom I have a cute boyfriend. C’mon, anyone would be a pile of awww on the floor after several days of that.

Seriously, anyone.