No, not a pity post. This post is about money. Unfortunately, not how to make it, sorry.
Growing up, I never realized we were poor. I never noticed the dinners that others would consider “cheap”. The hand-me-downs from my cousins were taken as a “Wow, I’m so lucky I get to have this (last season’s) Gap dress! Too bad they can’t wear it anymore!”
Sometimes I wouldn’t have money for dues for our girl scout troop. Other times my grandma would have to pay for me to be in AYSO (soccer), or she’d pay for me to go to summer camp, since her other granddaughter was going- and she wanted me to be able to experience the same things. The worst part was, we were living in a house my grandma bought so my dad would always have a place to live. I wasn’t just a pity-child, I was part of a pity-family.
Grandma grew up poor, and wanted her grandchildren to experience everything she couldn’t, even beyond her means. I thought that’s what grandmas do. Perhaps I’m wrong. My mom, while retired (which stemmed from unemployment), doesn’t have money to enroll Piper in crap. She’s too young, for one thing, for another, when would she go? When we’re at work? Still, my mom showers her with (unreciprocated at the moment) love. I know she feels badly that she can’t buy Piper all the things she wants to get her, and has to save up her money to buy anything special. I understand that. I don’t ask her for anything, only her love. Same goes for my dad, I know they only want to give her everything but can’t.
We want to give Piper the world, but as it is, we both work to keep food on the table, diapers on her butt, and gas in our car. She may not have clothes from Janie and Jack, and she may be outfitted in Target and hand-me-downs, but she’s happy. She has Mommy and Daddy, who shower her with kisses all day. Sometimes she doesn’t get my full attention when I’m trying to create an invoice at work- but she is literally less than a foot away from me at all times, and more often than not I’ll reach down a hand for her to hold, just to let her know I am here, and I will always be here.
Money can buy you a lot of things, but it can’t buy memories. So I had to eat Lawry’s powdered spaghetti sauce growing up, who cares? So Piper is wearing pants that two other babies wore before her- again, who cares?
I’m proud to have the parents I have. I never went without medical coverage, I always hand inhalers for my asthma (sometimes they were from Mexico, but they were exactly the same, and like, $50.00 cheaper per inhaler), and we always had presents to open at Christmas, even if they were small things like socks and magazines and nail polish. It must say something to think that as a kid, I never knew we were poor.
Since I got pregnant I’ve wanted my BFF to be pregnant. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out, time-wise, but she’s pregnant now! She’s got a lovely little boy baking away in there, due around my birthday. It’s a sign, I say. He’ll likely be a few weeks short of a year younger than Piper. Not too bad, marriage wise. What? Yes, I said that.
Anyway, I’ve always wanted someone “with” me when I did life-changing things- engagement, marriage, pregnancy, baby-hood. My friend didn’t disappoint. I got engaged three months after she did, married 4 months after she did, and we were pregnant together for a few weeks (sorry, L) last year. Piper comes along and she’s my world- those 6 weeks I was home I was incommunicado. I had the hardest time juggling a very needy newborn, along with finding time to sleep. I was looking forward to going back to work at 6 weeks so I could talk to my buddy on Gtalk again. I missed talking to her.
I had hoped her baby would be a girl, selfish me. I wanted to give her Piper’s clothes (she has some pretty good ones), and bond over having daughters. They’re having a boy, and I was a little (stupidly, selfishly) bummed. Of course, like all “I’m your Auntie, no, not really, but yes, I’m your Auntie, okay?” Aunties are, I wanted a healthy baby, no matter the sex. He’s wonderful and healthy. Now can I be a little bummed? I fear the fact that I won’t be able to relate to her struggles with her little boy. It’s totally stupid, right? I know, it is. Aside from nannying for a few years for little baby boys, I don’t know about boy-stuff. I know girl stuff! Then I found out she’s going to be a SAHM. Oh.
I’m not judging SAHMs. I want to BE a SAHM, but it’s not feasible in any which way I look. Most of the time I’m jealous of SAHMs. I am bitter towards them, envious of how their husband gives them the ability to SAH. A lot of the time, and I’m admitting something here, I think harshly toward them because I SO want to be in their place. It’s like elementary school. We were poor, and I couldn’t get those Hello Kitty erasers that smelled like fruit like everyone else had. I wanted those erasers. How I wish I could have just ONE Twin Star eraser (or whatever they were called). I hate that girl who has my eraser. Why? Because she can afford the eraser and I can’t. Instead, I have to watch her using the precious pink eraser, when I know I would most likely just keep it in my pocket and sniff it- but NEVER, EVER, under penalty of death, USE IT. Yes, it was the mindset of a 7 year old. And yes, I still have it.
So I fear, that while my BFF is going to be able to SAH with her son, that I will lose all I had in common with her. She’ll be able to take him for trips, and visits, and have fun music classes and gymboree classes and I’ll be at work, toiling away on a spreadsheet. At first we bonded over our mutual misery at work- working with numbers and people who make everything more difficult than it should be. Then it became wedding plans, and personalized ribbon. Pretty soon it was TTC, and temping. Now, it’s about baby kicks and poopy diapers.
I’m afraid that come delivery, she’ll realize what a sham I am as a friend, and find a SAHM that she can relate to, and can go out with at 10am, while I sit at work, my gtalk quiet as a mouse, because underneath it all, I am a jealous girl who wants to hog all the good people in life- and I really don’t deserve her friendship anyway.
