Growing up, my parents didn’t whisk us off to the doctor’s office very often. Partially because my dad hates spending money and partially because my grandma kept us hopped up on homeopathic remedies. My mom kept the dark glass bottles in a large shoe box in the cabinet above the microwave. The bottles were filled with tiny white pills that dissolved on your tongue and usually tasted like sugar. While maintaining a paralyzing fear of syringes, I found this form of medicine a far more appealing option than a trip to see any doctor. We had tiny pills for headaches, sore muscles, my youngest sister’s high strung tantrums, and the common cold. I have no idea if they held any medicinal value or if we were just raised on placebo wellness, but I’m really hoping my Grams comes through on this anxiety business. I don’t want this kid coming out biting his nails or picking his cuticles all because his mother has free-floating anxiety.
I had a dream last night about a baby. I’m still unsure if the baby was mine because I think it just showed up with no explanation. Despite this being my self-proclaimed Year of the Baby, I don’t often dream about motherhood, babies, raising kids, any of it. The baby wasn’t newborn but still tiny, in that squirmy stage just before crawling. Meredith asked me to go check on him. When I got to the crib, the baby was staring up at me smiling, but he looked more like a cartoon old man baby than a real baby. Before I could pick him up, the baby said he’d rather have a bottle of cow’s milk instead of breast milk. He said it very plainly and not in broken baby English. I’m not really sure what this is all about. It might have been the Schezwan bean curd I ate the night before. It might have been a manifestation of my generalized anxiety. Maybe both? Meredith worries a lot about my anxiety during pregnancy and what effect it could have on the baby.
A little wine + pill cocktail is going to look really inappropriate with a baby bump so I’ve got to start some research on how to alleviate my anxiety the natural way. Letting Google do all the work has kind of been a letdown so far, and many of the sites returned look like low-budget schemes to sell penis enlargement prescriptions.So I’ve decided to return to my roots and email my grandma.