One of These Things Is Not Like The Other

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who feels just a little out of place in nearly every scenario.

With Baby Girl on the way, I fit less and less in with my single friends (of which I still have a fair number) - because, let's face it, while Woodstock is adorable, not everyone wants to hang out with someone else's kid, and babysitters are incredibly difficult to come by, even though I only need one once in a blue moon. Add in a second kid, and it just multiplies exponentially. And, if I'm having man problems, they're no longer the kind I can just discuss at will with a girlfriend.

I've never felt like I "fit in" with Stay-at-Home-Moms. In some people's minds I'm a horrible mother, because I'm not a SAHM but it is what is necessary for our family, and I have peace regarding that decision. And this might give me double-strikes, but while I ADORE Woodstock, I don't need to talk about her (or kids in general) all that often. I have a much greater need to talk about other things and do other things. Like see Wicked (not that I bought tickets) or The Marriage of Figaro - not that I know anyone within an hour's drive of me who wouldn't laugh me out of The Frontier for wanting to see an opera.

Ironically, I feel even less like I fit in with the so-called "Mommy Blogger." I have zero desire to be crafty, to give others parenting tips or to be a mompreneur. Probably because I have a regular job, and can't fathom wanting more than ONE job. And I don't have all that many "mom" stories.

In that same vein, I no longer fit in with the "career types," because I honestly only care enough to keep my skills up-to-date and marketable. Yes, I know I could consult on the side and make good money, but I'm a wife, a mother and pregnant on top of being a full-time employee - do I really have to put in any more effort at the moment to do anything beyond survive?

I also don't know what it's like to feel so exasperated with my child that I just want to escape. Because I get to spend so little time with Woodstock, every moment is cherished. Of course, it helps that she is by nature sweet-tempered and easy going, and I realize that is a blessing. A BIG ONE. I can appreciate that others feel that way, but while I OFTEN want to escape, it's usually wanting to escape housework, expectations, work and adulthood, rarely because Woodstock is driving me nuts.

I've also come to realize lately that I have zero hobbies, and I'm not terribly into "typical women" activites. I don't own my own house, so decorating is out. I don't like to shop. I sleep through 98% of any movies I try watching. I'm a pop culture flunkie, and not all that sad about it. I scrapbook as a mental release, but it's a rather solitary activity. I read, but not Jane Austen or Twilight or the likes. I don't have a sister down the road to pal around with. I love to hike - and can easily take Woodstock on my back (even pregnant), but can't reasonably say I feel safe going alone, and serious hikers don't want kids along, even when carried in a backpack. Understandable, but hard when one's spouse works every-other-weekend.

But the real matter is the dark issue that lurks just under the surface all the time - it's always been there, but over the years it has progressed to near-crippling levels. The "label": Generalized Anxiety Disorder. We rarely have had anyone over in nearly 2 years - not because we don't like it, but because my anxiety is so bad I am a wreck before, during and after. I'm on eggshells all the time - about the state of the house, about prepping for/keeping track of little kids, about my near-obsessive need for order. It's bad enough that to control it I've had to purposely lead a more solitary life. And all the while, I feel like a terrible friend.

It's funny what kind of introspective things pop up when one is mentally preparing for what seems like an inevitable move. It's almost like I have to clean out my head before I can even think about tackling the mess that lurks in the four walls of the 70s Palace.