Grand Illusions

When I was pregnant with Allison, I remember thinking that my previous experiences with Eric had made me a certified baby-birthing expert and would therefore see me through this new chapter.   It's an illusion that has stuck with me ever since, despite all the evidence put before me.  Evidence that, say, someone from Social Services could use to create a little job security.

The first illusion I recall is the one that convinced me I'd feel great throughout my pregnancy.  Compared to someone on a cross-country bike tour who'd just eaten a can of post-dated tuna?  Yeah, I suppose I did feel great.

And then, after Allison was born,  there was the belief  that I'd just sort of remember all the things I had learned during Eric's infantile stage (a stage that only temporarily reared its head again when he was a young teen).  To be fair, I did remember that cloth diapers required plastic pants (which is why Allison wore disposables).  Beyond that, though, I had no memory of when a little baby should begin solids, grow teeth, quit crying, start walking.

You can imagine my disappointment when I finally realized that none of the rules that Eric had so diligently set out for me seemed to hold any water when it came to his younger sister.  Either that, or I had simply forgotten where I had put all that good information.  If I could just locate that pile of wisdom, I'm pretty sure I'd also find my wallet that went missing two weeks ago. . . .

And now, with college looming for Allison, I am once again beaten over the head by the realization that "if 'x' then 'y' " is nothing more than some stupid, unreliable mathematical voodoo (yeah, you heard right, Leona!) that--like all math--is absolutely no help to me whatsoever.

Thanks a lot, Pythagoras!  May a thousand bed bugs breed like bunnies behind your knee caps.

I feel like the Last Comic Standing--only a lot less funny--as I make it up again and again and again, my life experiences offering no help whatsoever.  I suppose the one concession is that I'm not making it up on a stage filled with cameras, in front of an audience grown cynical and expectant, thanks to all those hilarious YouTube videos they watched this morning.

Yeah, I'm probably lucky that Social Services quits knocking when the kids turn 18.