I’ve realized that I’m a need-to-know kind of person. It’s not that I don’t love gossip, rants, and secretive whispers about the way the woman in the back of the restaurant is chewing. I love all that stuff. I’m secretive when it comes to myself and how much information I disclose to strangers.
Before you jump on the, “But you have a blog and you tell random strangers all about your life and your reproductive system,” bandwagon, let me tell you that blog writing is different from actually talking. Writing on my blog is like retelling myself a funny story. You know, the kind of stories that when you think about them again they make you smile and even chuckle to yourself. That is what my blog is like.
In person, I’m not extremely forthcoming about personal information. Vacationing with my Grandma was a lot like vacationing with a three year-old, only she has better credit. I kept expecting her to say, “….and I have a toy truck named Cleveland and dog and cat and my cat likes to go potty indoors and it makes my Mom really mad…..” She would start talking to everyone about everything from her bowel movements to the death of her husband and the pain in her hip. Waiters, people on the elevator, hotel clerks: no one was immune to the onslaught of information. God help the person that would answer her back. That person was in for a thirty minute conversation while I tried to slip away and look at the $50 Hawaiian shirts.
We flew on separate flights from Seattle to Hawaii because she couldn’t find her driver’s license and credit card at the airport. Granted, it was 4am and we were both tired from harassing the airport shuttle driver who picked us up at 2:45am. She went back home from the airport to find the identification and I traveled on without her. I arrived in Honolulu around 10:30am (Hawaiian time) and she came around 11pm. When the bellboy came to the hotel room with her luggage he looked at me and said, “She’s hard a hard flight and she’s really tired, but I’m sure that you will hear all about it.” He left the room quickly with a panicked look on his face as she ambled in with her purse and cane. I did hear all about it.
She likes to introduce me by saying, “This is my Granddaughter. She’s pregnant. She’s going to make me a Great-Grandmother. My great grandson is in here.” Then she would pat my stomach. The whole thing was highly embarrassing. Anyone with any kind of sense would know that I’m pregnant. My belly sticks out over my feet for God’s sake!! I finally had to ask her to stop telling people that I was pregnant. I would tell them myself if they asked.
Apparently, this need to divulge information is genetic. My Mom strikes up conversations in the same way. At our birthing class yesterday, I kept repeating that I went on vacation and missed the first class. She would turn conspiratorially to the person sitting beside us and announce, “She just got back from Hawaii.” Then I would be forced to answer what islands I went to and whether or not I had a good time. I'm not shy, just a little closed off.
If my son is anything like me, someone kill me if I announce personal information to strangers about him. If this truly is a strange, hormonal phenomenon that happens to women when they become mothers, somone that loves me, kill me. Please.