honey, mommy is not a chew toy.
One year ago: We go to meet Mary's new baby daughter Grace. Two years ago: We recover a bit from my sister's wedding. Actually, the wedding entry is more interesting. Three years ago: I help classmates film a project and get lost in an earthquake.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Know how I mentioned my wrist had started to hurt?
It's starting to really hurt. Like, during the day -- it only hurt at night before. My fingers feel sore when I bend them. This has gone from "Ow," to "Ow. Ow. OW. OHMYGODTHATREALLYHURTS!"
Kay wrote to suggest I see a massage therapist and get some work done on my neck and chest, because muscles affected there might be affecting my wrists.
I wrote to my friend Laine, with whom I worked at Apple and who had a severe carpal tunnel problem while we were there, and asked her what type of doctor she went to see when she had her problem. She told me about her experience (didn't sound promising) and mentioned that the CT problem got much worse after she had her daughter. From lifting the baby, from carrying the baby, from using the Baby Bjorn too much and not developing the arm strength to hold the baby.
Christ.
I've made an appointment with an orthopedic specialist. We'll see. If I suddenly stop posting again, you'll know why.
And now for the Irony portion of the entry: all I want to do is write.
I've been making a list of topics I want to write about in the journal when I get a chance.
I know how I want to change my Nicholl semifinal script from last year and I could do it, even in the four days left before it has to be in the mail. Pooks said I should enter it again this year, because you never know what's going to happen: our friend Mike entered his script in three years running without changing a word and never made it to the quarterfinals; the fourth year he was a finalist. (Sadly, he didn't get one of the Fellowships...but he also became a Disney Fellow, so I'm not crying for him.)
A few other stories (like that new script I've mentioned) have started banging on my brain again.
Of course. Now. When I should really start rationing my time at the computer.
Blueberry Hill's bit yesterday on "Young Minds at Work Day" rocked. Abso-fucking-lutely.
Darin recently reread the Chronicles of Narnia, which was one of his favorites from childhood. And periodically he'd look up at me and say, "I'm not reading these to Sophia." He wouldn't stop her from reading them herself, but he won't push them on her. And if she does read them he'll want to discuss them with her.
Why? No, not the religion part. The part where girls are treated as (and act like) helpless ninnies. The girls have to be coddled, because they can't take care of themselves.
I'm really glad Darin's looking at material this way, thinking about its effect on our daughter.
I got a recommendation for a book called Growing a Girl by Barbara Mackoff. I was afraid it would be one of these silly, trite pop-psych books. It isn't, not at all.
What was great is that Darin really liked the book. (Talk about being afraid it would be a silly, trite pop-psych book: Darin is rather unrelenting about material he deems beneath his or anyone's level.) He talks about it all the time, and I think it's really impressed on him the necessity of making sure our daughter knows she can do anything she wants to.
In fact, he keeps reminding me of my part in the equation: I have to stop doing things I don't want our daughter to do. For example, I totally freak out when I see a bug, like a large spider or a bee. I get this from my mother, totally -- she would go into a St. Vitus dance whenever she saw a bee. If I don't want Sophia to act helpless, I have to avoid doing it myself.
Of course, I don't know how we're going to get her to eat peas when Mom absolutely, totally refuses to eat them herself.
Forum: Should we treat our little girls any differently than our little boys?
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Copyright 2000 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@spies.com