Meet the Parents

Slightly out of order, I met my boyfriends parents last night. I've met his mom once before, but this is the first time I've seen his Dad. The poor grandpa-to-be was an un-godly sort of nervous. In fact, at a first glance I thought a medical disorder was to blame for his shaky handshake and the jerky nods of his head. Low and behold, he's just meeting the mother of his future grand child for the first time.

They didn't dive into the pregnancy, even though I wish they would have. A crowded booth at Rock Bottom is not the ideal context for an elephant, after all. However, when his Dad was done awkwardly talking about Bill Clinton's diet and the online spanish class he was taking, his Mom didn't hesitiate to ask how I was feeling. We all sighed in relief as the elephant exited the restaurant. Nick almost rode it out the door.

He was also the only one who seemed interested in the menu, I dont think he's particularly close to his parents. When we left he was sure to tell me that they were "holding back". On the other hand, I might be in love with his mother. She's a lovely lady, very modest and consistently compliments other people. You can tell she's an aid to the unconfident, as one of her favorite responses is "I don't think I would be able to do that!" As much as you want to tell her that "of course she could" I also have to remind myself that she's flattering. She's a wonderful listener, and knows herself as well as other people. She kept telling me that even though she hadn't spilled the beans to her other sons, that she kept telling them what a nice, young lady I was. Her attempts to avoid intrusiveness were entertaining, almost as if she were apologizing for suggesting that she could babysit. If I knew her better I would have yelled at her "Of course you can babysit! This is your first Grandchild and you couldn't be a more prepared, more wonderful Grandparent!" When he asked how they could help out, I told them "adivice! We've never done this before!" We talked about everything from morning to sickness to finding a house to live in, but I still felt as though (especially Grandpa) is still a little queezy about the situation. Hopefully next time they're more comfortable with me.

The fact of the matter is, the order is all out of whack. We never took the time to become close to his parents and now you can tell thier terrified that I might take off with thier only Grandchild so far. You can tell they're dying to become a part of thier little family, and its hard to tell them how much I really think they'll be great and that I want them around. Also, Nick is so much older than me that I never wanted to introduce him to my parents, or even tell them about him. I hardly ever talked about my boyfriends, how was I supposed to tell them about the one that was eleven years older than me? So I didn't. I now understand the importance of an open relationship with your parents, because boy am I going to be dropping the bomb with this one.

I've always been full of surprises, though, they can't be too taken back, can they? I wish they would react the same way that Nick's parents did, nervous but nervous with excitement. Everyone keeps telling me that telling my dad might not react as terrible as I'm imagining. At the same time, I can't help but to ask myself "Does Dad still have that twenty-two? Maybe I should wait." And if the homicide seems dramatic, I can't even imagine the dissapointment Everytime I've screwed up in college, he repeats the unforgettable "at least you're not pregnant" speech. I was an unexpected pregnancy and my Dad was completly unprepared. He had an unwillingness to grow up, and he was only twenty-four years old. For most of his life he's had a difficult time adjusting to the life he has and making commitments. Sometimes I still don't feel as if he really knows how to be a father to me, and in return I have a vauge idea of what fathers are supposed to be like. He recognizes all of this and is dissapointed in himself. Having that said its easy to see why being pregnant is the worst thing in the world when I was the one thing in his life he thinks he's failed.

Well Dad...

A Note On Mistakes

Our art teacher told us to hold on to the mistakes we made because we could easily cover them up. The accidental stroke of a brush or scratch of a pencil could be covered with more paint or shading. Maybe the accident would become a part of the artwork without any need to cover it up, but just add to it. I suppose that makes mistakes a part of art. Beautiful works develope when our minds wander off, mis-estimate, or our hands ignore the command of our brain.

I remember the same thing happened in music. The unwritten note that I accidentally sang I occasionally enjoyed more, which didn't help to remember the correct note. It wasn't where the composer had intended to musically move, it wasn't the emotion that he was trying to evoke, but the part of the melody that I screwed up was mine. It was my absent mind that created it and my taste that preferred it. However, in that circumstance, change was impossible. I would have to learn the right note and sing what was written.

But I still liked the mistake more.

Every day we create, fix, ignore, or love our mistakes. I'm convinced, in fact, that we're so used to making mistakes that often we don't even notice we're making them and correcting them. Think about how many times we mis-spell a word we know how to spell or make a typo. Notice that you have significantly more or less money in your checking? Perhaps a mathmatical error in your favor, or most definetly not in your favor, but either or, it was a mistake. Lock yourself out and have to sit in the cold garage until someone gets home? Forgetting your keys was a real mistake. Missed deadlines, drinking too much, ordering the wrong item out of a catalog, or having an affair with your secretary are all mistakes. But lets face it, you had a great time on Saturday and you love that black dress.

The secretary, well, thats a mess I can more closely relate to than a typo. That doesn't mean that you should assume that I'm a mistress, because I'm not. In fact everything with the relationship is legit. Well, not in the eyes of the Catholic church, parents or grandparents. My dad doesn't even know about my boyfriend and now I'm having his child.

This is a mess, to say the least. However, even though this mistake is bigger, much bigger than the accidental stroke of a paintbrush, this child is getting painted into the picture.

And it's going to look more wonderful than I ever could have ever imagined.