"i'm crushing your head!"

Sometimes, some people just have a knack of making you feel small. (And warning, in this post I'm doing what I tell my students not to do, substituting the word "you" for "me.") They may have no intention of doing so; they may even love you. But by either belittling or discounting your ideas or something that's important to you, they seem to make a habit of doing just that: making you feel small. Unreasonable. Stupid.

That's how I felt tonight while talking to a certain someone (a family member) about the kid's room. One of the most frequent questions you'll get asked when you're pregnant--especially if you're as far along as I am--is, "Do you have the nursery finished?" (Honestly, I'm getting tired of being asked the same questions over and over, whether the questioners are family members, friends, or strangers. But I'd probably be hurt if people I knew didn't ask, so I suck it up and repeat the answer for the thousandth time for each questioner.) This particular family member happened to ask that question tonight, so Al and I started going through the list of everything that we still have left to do: finish and attach molding; buy and bring in the dresser; sand and stain the changing table. We didn't get through the entire list (there's still the closet shelves, etc., but who's keeping track?) but it was the changing table that became my sore spot tonight. The thing that made me feel small.

See, up until April, my mom worked as a nanny for a wonderful family. After eight years and watching the number of children grow from one to three, mom was so close to this family that she considered them her own, and they felt the same way about her. When they found out I was pregnant, they gave me their changing table since they're not planning on having any more children. Only one small problem: it's made of blond wood, and I was over the blond wood look several years ago: I much prefer the espresso-colored furniture that I chose for our nursery. But it's not a real problem, because I've tackled refinishing projects before. All we need to do is sand off the current finish and re-stain it. Because of my carpal tunnel, Al needs to do the sanding (I feel better, but don't want to cause more muscle damage by overdoing it), and when he's done, I'll do the staining. No big deal.

We were explaining this to Certain Someone and certain someone thought we (meaning me, Rhonda, I) should wait until the summer when we (me, Rhonda, I) can do it outside. Meaning Al shouldn't have to sand this piece of furniture for me. I said no. Certain Someone said, "The baby won't know the difference." I said I would. Certain Someone said, "It doesn't really matter." I said it mattered to me. And then the look on Certain Someone's face and the shrug of Certain Someone's shoulders told me that Certain Someone thought I was being unreasonable to insist that the furniture in my baby's room actually look like it belong there and match the other pieces. I could understand if we were either physically unable to sand and stain the furniture or simply didn't have time, but we are able and we have a month--and plan to start working on it tomorrow. Part of the opinion of Certain Someone, I'm sure, is that I was expecting Al to help me with it instead of doing the entire thing myself. In fact, I get the feeling that several Certain Someones think I expect Al to do too much around the house (floors and trim and a changing table? Never mind that the carpeting that was in the room was shag carpeting that was original to the house and filthy; that the existing trim had to come up since it wouldn't have been the right height for the wood floors; that it's easier to change the baby on the changing table than in the crib or on the floor).

I know that this slight was unintentional. I know that several people, including Al, would say I'm making something out of nothing, a mountain out of a molehill. And if it was just this one thing, I would do my best not to let it bother me. But it seems like a small comment like this is made at least every other time I see Certain Someones. I used to think they didn't like me; now I know that's not the case, but I still feel belittled. And you know what? This is my baby's room, not theirs. Sometimes people just need to think a little before speaking and keep their opinions to themselves.

To anyone I may have made feel belittled, I apologize. Since I was hurt badly close to two years ago, I've been trying my best to think more about other people (and their feelings) and be less self-centered. I probably fail more than I succeed, but I'm trying. And I'm hoping becoming a mother makes me better at this. I know, though, that stupid, thoughtless things come out of my mouth at times (or expressions on my face or shrugs from my shoulders), and if I've done it to you, I'm sorry. Please don't feel like I'm crushing your head.