Radio Rant

As recently as March (BC – Before Children) I lived in silence. In my house there was the sound of the furnace, the clock ticking, the click-click (rather than pad-pad, courtesy long hind claws) of cat feet, the occasional maiao to announce that I had yet again failed to fulfill my duties as servant, or purrful praises for my humble efforts. My ears, in fact, are sensitive enough that what most people called a “normally loud ” volume is physically painful for me.

Rock concerts are out of the question unless I wear industrial strength ear plugs, and even those musical events held in more acoustically civilized locales than the city’s pro hockey rink have me sitting with my fingers placed elegantly in my ears. I’ve even been known to request the soundman at a church service to turn down the volume (whatever happened to good old hymn singing? These days churches seem to want to present an entire rock concert every week – not that I frequent churches in the general run of things). Anyway, my point is that I didn’t have much noise, ambient or otherwise, in my environment.

All that has changed since the offspring arrived. I was warned by my SIL that babies are notorious for being routine-oriented, and unless I wanted a little hellion that refused to sleep unless it was absolutely quiet, I’d better start having a noisier house in general. So I turned on the radio – and a new rant was born. I can’t BELIEVE the inanities that are broadcast across our airwaves. Commercials drive me nuts, the music is stunningly repetitive and the disc jockeys are nauseating. Intelligent radio, anywhere?? Of course I could (and do) switch to CBC, still a source of thoughtful commentary…and while in the States I listened to Public Radio or something like that which was really good.

Okay, maybe it’s not quite that bad, and I’m slowly learning to tune out the yukky stuff. Which makes me wonder what’s happening in my subconscious since it’s still taking it all in. I can’t wait until Samuel’s old enough to sleep consistently wherever he is – he is already very good at sleeping through grocery shopping and visits to the video store so I live in hope! I did switch to a lullaby CD last night, which worked fine, and also is teaching me a few lullabies. For anyone out there, I recommend it : Lullaby Berceuse, a warm prairie night by Connie Kaldor (I tried hyperlinking to a book listing at indigo but it doesn't work properly, I'm probably doing something wrong).

Posturing

I have horrible posture. I could contend for the Hunchback of the Neighbourhood title, if there were one to be awarded. (Of course I’d have to beat out all the old grannies with osteoporosis first). I realized this the other day as I was hoisting the offspring onto my shoulder for the obligatory spewing of milk and air after a feeding, and there wasn’t much real estate to hoist him onto. Pondering the causes of this, I deduced via the hallway mirror that the lack of surface area was due to an inordinate curvature in my shoulders. It looks quite unattractive, now that I’m actually noticing it. I remember I had very GOOD posture at an indefinite point in the past (“my youth” ) – and I don’t know when it slouched into the current bowed position. As soon as I straightened my shoulder, Samuel immediately nestled into the now-appropriately positioned corner of my neck. Hmm.

It could be my breasts. I’ve always been morbidly aware of having obstreperous nipples, and I’ve ranted before about feeling like I – or rather they – are being stared at (there’s a book on that waiting to be read on my bookshelf – the feeling of being stared at, not the nipples). Now that they're working girls, they've become even more ...opinionated. So it would make sense that I’ve hunched in an effort to hide the girls.

Alternatively, it could be ME just getting worn out by life – I’m sure there’s a profound statement about self-esteem in there somewhere but I’m too lazy to ferret it out.

Suffice it to say I’m turning over a new leaf – or shoulder in this case, to improve my posture. I’m using S. for my inspiration since she has excellent posture – and robust girls which she does not try to hunch over and hide.

Out with the old, in with the new!

So I think I’ve lost a friend to The Marriage Void. She’s met a wonderful man, they’re getting married, and have just moved in together. Despite our best attempts, we’re losing touch as they make a life together. Although I’m thrilled she’s found a good man (and am wishing that he had some single friends) I’m also grieving the loss of our original friendship. It’s weird that her good fortune brings such poignancy with it.

Is this an inevitable part of the shift from singledom to couplehood? Must one die to an old life to begin a new one? We both had hoped this would not happen but it seems almost impossible to avoid. Add to the mix my new motherhood and our shared reality becomes ever fainter.

I always thought poorly of women who dumped their girlfriends when they met a man. However, I must say that in this case, it feels like it’s almost an inexorable part of the metamorphosis from one life to another.