Deepest darkest fears

Dios mio, mi amigas.

I'm reading this book: The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen. I have a little book that I used to keep with me at all times. I would write ideas for songs in this book, or quotes I liked, and I had a huge running list of books I might want to check out. If a person mentioned a good book, or I heard an author interview I liked on the radio, or if some magazine came out with a list of great new fiction I'd jot it down there. I just so happened to have that list with me in a used book store last month, so I matched up a couple of names on the list with things that were actually on the shelves. The Corrections was one of them. Some of the books I remember why I wrote them down, or who referred it to me, but this one is a complete mystery. I went into it a complete and utter blank.

And I blame it solely for causing me to weep on my bed last night while Anonybabe lay on my chest in the dark (she mistook my heaving sobs for laughter and giggled merrily).

The book's just some novel about a dysfunctional family. Jesus fuck, how unhappy can one set of people be? It brought up all of these fears I have about Anonybabe hating my guts. Why wouldn't she? I've done my share of hating my poor parents' guts (still do, if you ask me at the right/wrong time). I've always kind of assumed that's just a part of growing up - nothing personal - just a necessary step towards independence. But the older I get and the more families I see/talk to/read about - I realize that although no families are perfect, some are relatively content, even happy. And I dared to hope that the little family I was creating had hopes of ending up the same way. Granted, some families were fucked up far worse than I could even imagine, but that didn't mean Anonybabe and Anonyhub had to end up like that. We might not even have to end up as unhappy and isolated as my immediate family. The worst possible outcome was no longer the only possible outcome in my mind. Lately I've been thinking happy parenting thoughts.

But this book is reminding me what a cesspool family relationships can be. And how utterly terrified I am that my relationship to Anonyhub and Anonybabe will somehow take a turn for the unbearable.

So I cried because at heart I feel like a joyless, fearful, parent. I cried because I fear I'm cursed to steep Anonybabe in the unhappiness I grew up in. I cried because at that moment it felt like the walls I've been putting up all my life to keep myself safe are too fortified to let this little girl in. Then I took some deep breaths and vowed to work really hard to avoid that fate. That's all I can do, right? If there's one thing I've grown hopeful about over the past decade it's this: that small concentrated bursts of effort, constant, steady work towards the things you want (including happiness) can make a huge difference. If I'm serious about having a good relationship with my daughter and husband and make that a priority and actually work at it, I can probably get that. No matter how fucked up or sad I may feel at the beginning of my journey.

Jesus, Anonymom; serotonin uptake inhibited, much?

Maybe I don't need to work at my relationships as much as chill the fuck out. I need "Enjoying Yourself for Dummies". Yep....jotting it down in my little notebook now....