A Little Privacy, Please

Nothing like a memorable conversation, each and every time.

This topic, however, shouldn’t be as hush-hush in everyday life as it seems to be, however intimate it is.  Why we women tiptoe around this subject like delicate wallflowers is beyond me, and yet we do it all the time, whispering as we broach the topic, even more so as we debate it.

Take for example the other night, when I went out with an old friend and a relatively new friend. We were gabbing about everything from A to Z…one thing led to another and before long, we were huddled around the table talking about, of all things, our…gynecologists. 

It seems that talking about one’s gynecologist is taboo, or at least takes us out of our comfort zone, yet many of us have turned our bodies over to them – by my age – many times, birthday suit and all.   

OK so I have a male gynecologist who is sweet as sugar.  He brought 2 of my 3 kids into this world.  He sure knew how to make me swoon.  This guy bought me a bag of Oreos after I delivered my middle child, a pregnancy made much more challenging by gestational diabetes.  My first cookie after months and months of deprivation.  Need I say more? 

But heck…would I rather have a female gynecologist?  Absolutely!  In fact, when I had an issue a few years ago and his female counterpart was covering for him, I was secretly delighted.  Just the fact that she was a woman put me completely at ease. No need to TRY to relax or to TRY to make conversation so the exam didn’t feel as awkward as it really was.  I’d go back to her in a minute, if I didn’t feel guilty that I was cheating on him.

But would I go back to her if I knew she’s a … lesbian?

Why this question even comes up is a mystery, yet it always does, when we women talk about our gynecologists. 

How is this any different than going to a male, who we’d assume for the sake of argument, is a heterosexual?  The gynecologist who bought me the cookies appears to be, with a picture of his wife and kids on his desk, and I have no apprehension about that, so why would a lesbian pose a problem? 

Perhaps the issue is that we women want to know with relative certainty that, as irresistible as we may be, our caregiver wouldn’t take advantage of us in our most exposed and vulnerable state.  And how better to seal the deal than by seeking the attention of someone we’re relatively sure wouldn’t be attracted to women at any time, like a gay male or female heterosexual gynecologist. I certainly wouldn’t want to put all those male heterosexuals out of business, though.  They’ve kept us and our kids safe from womb through their first public cry.  They deserve better.

So while most of us end up saying it doesn’t matter if we go male, female, gay, straight, consensus seems to be – based on many conversations over the years – that women prefer to be cared for by women, regardless of their sexual preference.

That is, unless you’re my other friend who says she’d always choose a male because she thinks men are inherently smarter, but that’s a blog for another day.  

Man's Best Friend

Life as an empty nester, other than when my youngest child is home for her college breaks, has provided quality bonding time for my husband and me.  Mealtimes are especially conducive to sharing the ups and downs of our lives and our thoughts on any given topic.

The other night at our kitchen table as I was trying to talk to David about one of my ongoing sagas – and I have to say he is a most captive audience much of the time – I noticed that while he nodded at me periodically, he was rather preoccupied ogling our doggy.  At first I just ignored it and kept talking, louder and louder, but then as their play became more intense, I realized he was totally engrossed in communicating not with his wife but with his dog.   

I told my husband that I feel like I’m competing with Shea doggy for his attention.  Without missing a beat, he said, “No, you’re not…you’ll lose every time.”

Then when I told David that he’s going to pay for that comment in my blog, he said I should add this line:  “I know there’s one thing I could never give David like Shea does:  unconditional love.”

My natural inclination was to feel somewhat offended that my husband was so quick to respond that Shea can give something so important to him that I can’t.  And talk about adding insult to injury – first I felt like the odd man out with the two of them carrying on and then I’m actually told why that’s the case. 

As they followed each other around the house the rest of the night, I thought about what David had said and decided he’s right.  Shea gives him pure and unadulterated love and affection, and there's no end to it.  No wonder David loves him so.

I also had a heart-to-heart with myself and decided that there’s no reason to feel threatened by Shea or succumb to jealousy at this point in my life when I’ve managed most of my years without it.  While their bond is powerful and transcends words, ours does too, in different ways, of course.  After all, I am David’s wife and Shea is, well, a dog.

At bedtime, the two of them headed upstairs first.  Once I finished my nighttime routine in the bathroom and walked toward our bed, there they were…David and Shea…face to face, on David’s pillow.  I climbed right in.   

I must’ve disturbed their special moment though, because the second I joined them under the covers, Shea repositioned himself to the foot of our bed. 

I guess he didn’t like being the third wheel either. 

The Flowers

When my husband walked in with flowers, I was a bit puzzled.

It wasn’t Mother’s Day, or my birthday, and I didn’t think we were in the throws of a heated argument.  We definitely weren’t in sync last Sunday morning, however, with agitation on my part brewing before I even got out of bed. Still, the little bit of quibbling we had been doing - via text - didn’t seem to warrant such a dramatic measure.   

I had been peeved that David left for his haircut without first walking Shea doggy, who was lying in the bed with me.  He of course had a different take on the matter. He said if Shea was still in bed, why did he have to take him out for a walk right then?  My response was that once our doggy hears his daddy going somewhere, he will most likely jump out of bed, run downstairs, start barking at other doggies he sees from the window and then I’ll be forced to take him outside right away.  Plain and simple, I wanted a morning off and was irked that he didn’t consider this as he went about his business.  

But instead of waiting till he returned home to talk about it, or better yet moving past it altogether, I felt compelled to convey my thoughts as I was experiencing them.  This is one of the more troublesome outgrowths of wishing I'd been more forthcoming with my feelings in marriage number one.  Ten years into marriage number two, watch out.

In retrospect, which is generally how my more productive thinking evolves, I handled my frustration poorly, allowing fleeting emotions to take over with unwarranted urgency and significance.  I’m sure David was asking himself why his wife got so bent out of shape over something minor in the scheme of things. That is indeed a good question. But you know how once the process of airing one’s grievances is underway, the act itself of spouting such gripes could take on a life of its own?  It could lead us down a path that has no benefits, leaving us both depleted and bitter, making it so difficult to get back on track, with the cause for the discord not only unnecessary but unclear over time.  This isn't how I want my relationship with David to play out.  

So when he returned from his haircut with bagels (expected) and flowers (not expected), I wasn’t sure what he was saying. He could see the confusion in my face and said “I just want us to enjoy today.”

I appreciated that.

He heard me, and I heard him.

The Dress

Whenever a party invitation lands in my mailbox for a dressy occasion like a wedding or a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, I experience the same sequence of thoughts:  1 – Wow! This is so exciting! I can’t wait!  I’m going to have so much fun!  And 2 – Darn!  What am I going to wear?  I hope one of my dresses fits me.  Why didn’t I start working out (this time around) sooner?    

In anticipation of my friend’s daughter’s wedding which was last night, I decided to stop at a local dress shop a couple days ago. I already had a few dresses in my closet but had worn each over the years and thought a last-minute effort might yield a more pleasing choice.  I entered the store with the same mindset for dresses as I have with bathing suits:  Keep in mind my “problem spots” and cover them up. 

It’s a simple enough game plan.  I walk around the store, collect dresses that upon first glance may be potential candidates and then, with a more discriminating eye, determine the next step for each dress:  try it on, put it back on the rack, or leave the store.

This time, I was greeted by a very young and thin woman named Michelle who attached herself to me within seconds.  She asked what I was looking for.  I surprised myself not telling her I’m just browsing so that she’d mind her own business.  She proceeded to comment about my great taste (very smart business decision) as I contemplated various dresses. She brought me shoes to try on (and purchase) and then cheered me on with the one dress I was willing to model for her, all the while bringing me accompanying jewelry options to further enhance the outfit.    

While I really liked the WOW-factor of the dress, I explained that I felt it was a bit too revealing; I didn’t want such a low-cut dress that showcased my cleavage.  This particular body part isn’t one of the problem spots that I try to cover up, but it’s not one that I’m comfortable putting on display either.

“Girlfriend, Show what you’ve got!” she said.  “I’m flat as a board. You know how much fun I’d have if those were mine?”   Wow!  I had never thought about that before.  What the heck.  Why not show off these babies???  I took the dress – sans the shoes and jewelry – and proudly checked out, making this purchase more enthusiastically than any other one I can recall. 

My sexy-dress-but-not-for-me instinct kicked in when I tried it on later that night.  I wasn't nearly as enamored with it in my own home.  While it addressed my problem spot criteria and also offered its own striking personality, I began to question its appeal without Michelle cheering me on.  I ended up wearing a different outfit to the wedding.        

Wouldn’t you know that one minute after I entered the ballroom, a very attractive woman about 15 or 20 years younger caught my eye…and guess what?   She was wearing that very same dress, plunging neckline and all. 

Next month we have another wedding to go to. Want to guess which dress I'm going to wear?

Valentine's Day

What a blast I had trying to plan a special weekend for my husband David, a Valentine’s Day baby. 

I was in cahoots with Lauren, his daughter, who wanted to come home from New York City to surprise her dad for dinner. The fact that she reached out to enlist my help made this suggestion a most welcome proposal in and of itself, once we’d iron out the details.

Her plan to set foot in Cherry Hill around 7:30 pm on Friday night to begin celebrating was a tricky component; on a typical Friday we could be getting ready for bed by then.  That is a slight exaggeration, but not by much.

Her stepdad was kind enough to agree to pick her up at the train station and bring her home, since David prefers to steer clear of any restaurant’s Valentine’s Day madness.

My job was to delay mealtime at home with the hope that we could all sit down together for dinner when Lauren arrived.  If I were to return from work at my usual time of about 5:30, for example, David would expect we’d be sitting down to dinner by 6, especially on his birthday.  How could I prevent this from happening?

I managed to weasel my way out of this by conjuring up fairly acceptable excuses by David’s standards.  Instead of my leaving work at 5 as he was hoping, I texted him about 5:15 saying I’d need to stay till 5:30 or 6 to finish up; when he asked for an updated time of my arrival a half hour later, I told him I just remembered I have to pick up a few items for dinner; when I got home around 6:30 and he said “I’m so hungry! Let’s eat!” I told him I’m way too tired to sit upright without taking a short nap first; when he texted me a half hour later to ask when we’re having dinner, I had to say I’ll be down soon but I’m more tired than I even realized. 

Meantime Lauren texted me that her train was stuck behind a disabled train which translated to my having to further dilly dally around the house.  I actually managed to keep David from the dinner table till 7:45, which I found quite impressive – that, and my not spilling the beans, which was even more remarkable.  I was just having so much fun with this undercover mission.

But the real reward came when our Shea doggy started barking as the door opened - followed by David not knowing whether he should panic with a potential intruder, hearing Lauren call out "Happy Birthday, Dad!" and then seeing his facial expression turn to jubilation.  He really did say, without a spoken word, that her coming home on this particular day was too good to be true.

I told myself earlier in the night that I’d shed no tears – I’ve been working on trying not to be quite so emotional – and I did well until I turned around at one point and saw her leaning over and hugging him in his chair. 

Then all bets were off.  

Pinky

This past Thursday as I prepared to visit with my mom, I stopped by Target first.  This is my usual go-to place to pick up the mix of things I need to bring.   

As I finished with my list, I was drawn to the eye-catching, brightly decorated Valentine’s Day section with candy, cards, paper goods, little toys that would fit in goody bags for parties and so on.  I decided rather than rush by these aisles to check out, I’d like to indulge myself in some fun stuff – kind of like taking time to stop and smell the roses.          

I saw lots of my favorite candies, thought about which one I wanted, put the Hershey Kisses in my cart, then decided I’d devour them all so I’d better put them back.  Next I walked over to the toy section and thought about what I’d buy for my kids’ friends if they were 15 or 20 years younger.  I was glad I didn’t have to make that decision, because I would’ve been there at least another half an hour.  Clearly, it was time to check out.   

And then I saw the most adorable pink teddy bear about a foot high with a little heart sewn into her chest, following me with her dreamy eyes as I walked away.  I was smitten.  I wanted my mom to have her.  This was meant to be, falling in love on the way to my mom’s.  I hope I don’t sound too sexist by referring to the bear as a female, but she is pink, after all.  I will call her Teddi. 

I put her in my cart but an aisle later reminded myself that my mom has never been a stuffed animal kind of gal, so maybe this purchase isn’t smart.  Perhaps Teddi should be with someone else who’d appreciate her.  I could’ve taken her home, but since my doggy would chew her up like he’s done with all my other furry friends, I put her back on the shelf.

An aisle later, I felt sad. I went back, put Teddi in my cart, told myself no more second-guessing the decision, and I brought her to my mom’s. 

It’s normal practice when I get there to show her what I’ve purchased, but I became hesitant about Teddi when my mom seemed indifferent with the snacks and flowers this time around.

Somewhat nervous about the introduction, I proceeded.  “Mom, this is Teddi…” and then that smile I live for when I visit stretched across her face, from ear to ear.  My mom reached out her arms to take Teddi and then began making silly faces at the bear, giggling and telling me how pretty she is.  I couldn’t believe I almost left Teddi at Target.

I never expected my mom to embrace her like that.  My sister told me this afternoon – two days later – that my mom is still carrying on with Pinky (yes, my mom renamed Teddi) just like the day they met. Maybe I really don’t know my mom as well as I thought I did.  I can’t believe I’m still learning about her likes and dislikes at age 96.  I bet there’s a lot more to know.   

I’m happy for my mom, but I’m happy for me too. This serendipitous connection is a memory in the making.  There is no second-guessing that.  

Traditions

They come in all shapes and sizes, with each one offering a little something different that I treasure.

One such tradition that I enjoyed most recently was with my friends Cel and Tita to celebrate our birthdays.  Cel’s is 2 days before Tita’s and my birthday, which the two of us are very honored to share with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.   

Cel commented that the three of us only worked together for a year, maybe two, nearly 30 years ago, and yet our tradition has lasted multiple decades. What a strong bond we must’ve formed way back when.  It’s not a stretch to say that we all look the same as the day we met, either. 

At the time, we all lived in Philly, and none of us had kids yet.   Now we all live in different states, have blended families with kids in the same age range and, as you can imagine, have a lot to share.  For starters, we all love our lives as empty nesters, although two of us experience this just part-time for now, as our kids are still in college and return home between semesters. 

There may have been a period when we got off track and missed a couple years, but we haven’t skipped one in the last 10, and I hope we don’t miss any more.  There’s way too much to talk about, and it’s so much fun.  I know it’s cliché, but it’s true…there’s nothing like old friends.   

When we did the whole long googbye thing, I heard Cel and Tita suggesting we get together again this calendar year - maybe this summer for a half-birthday celebration.  YES...it's a date!  Then a second later another idea to include our husbands was thrown into the mix.  

I hate to be greedy, but I'll take all the time I can get with these two.  We're so fortunate to have each other...let's not take that for granted.