Friday, April 28, 2006


Throughout my pregnancy, I've been thrilled with the support I've gotten from all my bloggy buddies... not to mention the comfort I've gotten from lurking on other blogs that deal with pregnancy and motherhood-related topics. I was worried initially about getting assvice every time I mentioned a twinge or a pang or a fear, but it just hasn't happened.

At least online.

I just got another email from my college roommate, who is due with her second a few days after the bambina's supposed to get here. C and I lived together for the second half of freshman year and all of sophomore year. After that, we went our separate ways, in part because we each delved into our (wildly varying) majors and in part because, frankly, I got a backbone and didn't need to spend all my time with someone who was happy to tell me what I should think and do and wear, etc. We never had a falling out, more of a drifting apart, so we've stayed in touch on and off since then. D and I went to her wedding, and she would have come to ours if her husband hadn't had a health emergency at the last minute.

Our communication has been pretty mundane, at least until we exchanged the info about our pregnancies. Now, she feels the need to tell me what to do at every turn, and It. Drives. Me. Crazy. (Ginga, I bet you are enjoying this!) We were emailing yesterday about a bunch of stuff and I happened to mention that we're looking for daycare and about to start childbirth classes. Her response? You'll never find part-time daycare in a center, and you absolutely must get an epidural.


Now, don't get me wrong -- lots of times I want input from friends about this stuff. But when I do, I tend to phrase it in the form of a question. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but I believe the use of an interrogative sentence conveys the meaning that one is looking for a response from another. And I have specifically not asked C any questions, not since she started sending me unsolicited tips ("add some juice to your water so you make sure you get enough fluids!") that make me feel exactly as though I am a naive freshman and she is the know-it-all cynic who's been there, done that. From anyone else, these emails would probably seem entirely innocuous. But because of our history, I want to leap through the computer and bite her.

Instead, I tend to delete the offending message and simply not reply. And then I stew for a while. Our relationship is simply not significant enough to be worth the effort of a discussion about her tendency to do this, so I need to just let it go. Which I will, as soon as I hit "publish."