Being ‘crazy’

Before we got pregnant, it was ok for me to be crazy.

You can chose how to define the words ‘ok‘ and ‘crazy‘ any way you like. Let’s just put it like this: At one point I quipped something to the effect of ‘I don’t go to therapy because I’m crazy, but because the rest of the world is fucking insane.’ Needless to say, even as such, I was (and unfortunately still probably am) a little bit crazy. If I was completely same (whatever the fuck that means) would you still love me anyhow?

Well, now that we’re pregnant, it’s ok for my wife to be crazy.

Let me rephrase that.

She’s always been crazy. And, it’s always been, well, ok. It’s just a different crazy to be ok as part of her ever expanding belly and all it’s idiosyncrasies like the super sensitive sense of smell…

Once again, you chose how to define the words ‘ok‘ and ‘crazy‘ any way you like. I prefer some combination of educator stress, seasonal depression, physical exhaustion, and hormones. Lots, and lots of hormones. And, some other stuff I’m not privy to, I’m sure.

What that means for me is I need to work extra hard to keep it together. And, keep it together outside of the normal ways I would normally de-stress, decompress, and de-amplify the asininity of everyday life and the experience of the human condition.

And, it means it is officially my wife’s turn to be crazy.

She somehow stood by me during my crazy family, employment, etc. stuff early on in the relationship. And, she did more than a fine job. After all, we not only managed to remain together but were able to bond in mostly positive and healthy ways that eventually resulted in marriage and procreation.

Now, it’s her turn. And, she’s allowed to go off-the-rails from time to time. Not only is she allowed but I think I’d be more fearful of success if she didn’t, but that’s a whole other cup of noodles.

The fucked up thing is once her turn is over, it’ll be our little patawan’s time to be crazy. And when they are crazy it’ll likely be a list more or less similar to a highly overlapping ven diagram to that of their crazy parents.

And, through that experience I’ll have to hold in my crazy again.

So, when do I get to be crazy again?

When I’m senile. No seriously. Let’s put this in the books now, Alzheimer afflicted my dad’s side of the family and if there’s any truth to hereditary propensity my next acceptable time to be crazy again might be then.

And, for the record, I know in 2015 calling people who suffer from any of the diagnosable afflictions, diseases and other psychological issues as crazy comes with it’s own crazy responses, some of which I am acutely aware of and this isn’t meant to demean or diminish any experience with them, crazy is the la familia term of endearment for when any of us have ever lost it. I’m making light of that experience for us, and only for us in this post, so don’t project your own hang ups on this for everyone’s sake.


About thedoormouse

I am I. That’s all that i am. my little mousehole in cyberspace of fiction, recipes, sacrasm, op-ed on music, sports, and other notations both grand and tiny:
This entry was posted in Opinion, parenting, personal musings, Quick Quip, relationships. Bookmark the permalink.

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