Families and Confidantes

Families. As if they weren’t complicated enough when you’re born into them, there’s this whole marriage and in-law business. Overall, I’m very happy with the family Marie married into, but these past few days have been interesting.

            Hannah and Lucy’s mom will pop by our apartment to visit with her daughters, but that’s not all she does. A few days ago she talked to me for a half an hour about how she wants Marie to go on some new diet that will supposedly make the baby a super genius and healthy. It turns out she hasn’t talked to Marie about this, and when I asked why, she claimed that women never want this sort of advice from their mother-in-law. I’m still not sure why she shared this information with me. I am definitely not pregnant.

            Then Hannah talked to me about how Marie hasn’t been going to the dinners her mom puts together for family and close friends. The past few times, Marie’s missed it for functions some of successful her high school friends have put together. They’re all very prestigious social events, more so than a small dinner party her in-laws set up. But Hannah voiced how it offends her mom that Marie chooses those parties time after time over family gatherings.

            But it doesn’t stop there.

            The next time I went over to Marie’s, she ranted for an hour about the state her son comes home in when her mother-in-law babysits: dirty, cranky, not hungry for his dinner, and wound up so that he won’t go to bed peacefully (or as peacefully as a two-year-old ever does). 

            As I’ve listened to these people unload their irritations and concerns to me, I’ve tried to imagine doing the same to them. Telling Marie’s mother-in-law that Marie has been kicking me out at dinner time, or Hannah about Fred, or talking to Marie about our mom. And I can’t imagine it. To actually raise up my voice, bring up the subject, and talk about things going on with me. But I don’t think it’s because I don’t want to talk about these things. I mean, with Fred, before, when we were together, I did. I could talk to him about the big stuff, or the little stuff. Any size. And before my mom got sick, she was my biggest confidante. There was nothing I didn’t talk to her about. I don’t know what it is. If I’ve stopped being able to build that trust with other people, or if I’ve stopped being able to even talk about it, even with people I’m close to. 

            I mean, yes, I have this blog, but you’re all different. You’re in your own towns, and while you send me incredible messages of encouragement (really, thank you for that), you won’t be in a position to text me when Fred comes into town and warn me to stay away from the bank because you saw him there, and I don’t think any of you are close enough to bring over consolation ice cream if I ever do run into him.

            I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Sorry. I’ll just hit post now.