I am trying to picture myself pregnant in LA. Shopping carts; heat; white lines on pavement; strolling carts; beach options; family.
I get off-kilter when we fight. Fighting about the future may seem pointless, but we are doing it. I picture myself pregnant in LA in a four-door. The evening my ex-husband helped me pack up the apartment we shared in West Hollywood, in late 2008, we exchanged parting visions. “I’m sure you’ll be with a nice, white, Christian gal who loooooves your family and does whatever they want.” He slightly smiled and said, “I hope so too.” His words carried the weight of his belief that I was a shitty wife and a cancer to his vision. For me, he foresaw a nerdy, Jewish guy. Three years later I’m with my Jewish boyfriend in Brooklyn. Not nerdy or nebbishy, the way my ex saw all Jewish men, but the person I see as my partner. We just moved from LA so I could go to school. We are in the Garden Cafe at 2:30pm trying to get breakfast before our headaches get the best of us. The waitress keeps interrupting our fight and we keep asking her for a few more minutes so we can get our points across. “I feel like you should meet a girl from the Valley, have your families close by and everything will be perfect,” I say. I don’t want to fuck up anyone’s life. I don’t want to force anyone to do what they don’t want to do. I picture myself strolling peacefully through the aisles of Whole Foods; having brunch with his family; relaxing with the baby on the beach. Why would I not go toward the happiness, as my mentor has encouraged me to do.
“I’ll just have to cut our dog in half,” I later joke to the guy at the dog park, pretending to slice Wyoming in half. This guy just met me and I’m telling him our personal information. Fuck.Now I’m Googling whether or not it’s plausible to have babies in NYC. I would like to listen to Annie Lennox sing all day. I would like to know what will happen in 5 years. I cannot make any promises to anyone. I don’t want to repeat my mother’s choices. I don’t want to feel isolated and option-less. I can’t even picture children right exactly now.
I would like to not hurt the person I love. And I fear that I’m horribly selfish at times. Horribly selfish.