36W6D / Childhood Memories

Wow... Tomorrow I'm officially 37 weeks, which is technically full term. That means that--assuming I don't go into labor today--I successfully avoided preterm labor for this pregnancy. Woot. Pterodactyl has been head down for 10+ weeks already. Also woot. And she was super active during my exam yesterday. Also also woot. The midwife's comments today included, "Wow, she's super long" and that she was probably sucking her thumb since her hand was right next to her face. I'm amazed at what the midwife can tell just by feeling my belly, because I can't differentiate between the little lumps. Is that baby? Or is that just uterine muscle? Who knows.

As has lately become common, I can't sleep tonight. I am perpetually uncomfortable. My stomach is squished, so I'm either super full or super hungry... and frequently plagued by heartburn, particularly when I'm lying down trying to sleep. My body aches lots. I feel like all my muscles and ligaments and all that are getting pulled and stretched in unnatural ways. Any heat waves we get are translated into severe nausea and lightheadedness. Tonight I have the added inconvenience of feeling emotionally wonky and down. So, despite being exhausted, I am also wide awake.

In my wakefulness, I started thinking about what I could remember about childhood, and in particular, what I could remember about how I interacted with other kids. (I've decided to write it down because some of it is emotionally charged, and if I keep thinking about it all night, I'll certainly never sleep.)

To be honest, the existence of other children was super uninteresting until I was about 7.

I remember some sort of preschool. There were other children and there were activities to encourage interaction between kids. I remember feeling pretty apathetic about the other kids, though. I remember realizing that I didn't particularly enjoy all the energetic-ness that was happening. I didn't want to run and jump and play. I was perfectly content to sit still. And I preferred it that way.

The first time I ever remember having a friend over to play isn't exactly a positive memory. I wouldn't say that it was negative either, but it certainly confused me. The girl who had come over to our townhouse proclaimed at some point during the visit, "Guess what! I can count to five! One, two, four, five!"

I countered, "That's wrong. It's one, two, three, four, five."

Well, the girl insisted she was right, even after I had consulted all the resources I could think of to convince her otherwise, including books and parents. I was very confused when she continued to insist she was right.

I was only five or so, but I remember thinking, "It's almost like she knows she's wrong, but she won't admit it because she's embarrassed." And then... "That's stupid. It's much more embarrassing to keep saying one, two, four, five over and over again as if I think it's right."* I'm pretty sure that girl didn't come over anymore. I was confused, particularly because I couldn't understand the need to appear right rather than actually be right. After all, I couldn't think of anything more exciting than learning something new.

I also remember kindergarten. There were other kids, of course, but I don't remember a single occasion in which I interacted with the other kids beyond in-class group activities (i.e. forced interaction). I didn't really care and didn't really think it was important. Perhaps I never felt I got much out of it.

In first grade, I still didn't play much with other children, but I actually had a friend! Her name was Alyssa. I actually liked talking to her or something, but I don't remember any playing. I much preferred to sit at the wall during recess and read. All that moving around and running and stuff was such a bother.

In retrospect, I wonder if my parents and teachers were concerned about me being "shy". I think, though, that to say I was shy would be largely inaccurate (at least prior to second grade). Sure, I was quiet, but I wasn't nervous about other people. I read entire books in front of the class, at the request of the teacher--and it never once crossed my mind to be nervous about standing and "performing" in front of others. They were just other kids.

... And oh, goodness. I was not timid. Some boy was annoying me pretty consistently. I decided that this must stop, so I threatened to kiss him if he didn't stop. (Oh no! The horror! The cooties!) He didn't believe me. I chased after him, pinned him down, and kissed him squarely. I remember being immensely satisfied with myself, because this had exactly the result I wanted it to have. I don't think that boy ever talked to me again. In fact, he avoided me like the plague. Excellent.

So yeah. I just didn't care how the other kids perceived me. I did start to care, though. I started to realize that it did actually matter if another kid hated you, because some kids (particularly the popular ones) have the tyrannical ability to make your life awful.

Near the end of first grade, I lent my most favoritest toy ever (this Beanie Baby cat) to a girl named Linda. But then she never returned it. I begged and begged and begged, but Linda seemed to enjoy coming up with new lies to explain why Kittyanna wasn't coming back. That was my first up-close-and-personal experience with a mean kid.

It got worse. (Sigh... I cry pretty much every time I think about the second grade. Prepare for a sob story.)

In second grade, my one and only friend Alyssa got transferred to a different school. Now, while I hadn't cared about not having friends in kindergarten, I actually understood what it was like to have a friend now and, of course, wanted it again.

To my immense despair, however, the most popular girl in the entire second grade (that's right--not just my class) hated me and made it a priority to make me miserable. I'm not sure why Christina hated me so much.** All I know is that Mr. Romero had me sit next to her the entire year.

Christina insulted me as frequently as possible--and because she was so popular (or perhaps so mean?), the other kids would all agree with her, and laugh. Pretty soon all the kids were torturing me.

The worst incident was when we were playing blind Tag on the jungle gym. When I was It, the game transformed from Tag to something else entirely--Humiliate Jennifer. I touched other kids several times, but Christina would declare that I hadn't actually touched anyone. Or that the person I touched wasn't playing, so it didn't count. Or another ridiculous lie. She hadn't done this to any of the other players.

I got fed up with this supposed game of Tag, and finally decided to leave my eyes slightly open to see what was actually happening. I tagged Christina. She exclaimed, "EEEEEEW, JENNIFER! You just touched a boy with tons of snot all over his face--right on the snot!"

"Liar."

"It's true! It was nasty."

"There is no boy with snot all over his face."

"He ran away really fast as soon as you touched him!" And, to my horror, the other twenty or so kids loudly proclaimed that Christina was being completely truthful. Even worse, every single kid seemed to be enjoying this show immensely.

I think after that day, I spent every recess sitting against the wall, probably with a book. I wouldn't read the book, though. I couldn't read because I was crying the whole time. Sometimes I would pretend to be a cat for fun, but only when all the other kids were far away.

I felt absolutely hopeless. I was immensely grateful when a Mexican girl named Nora moved in midyear. She treated me with kindness and made me cry, too, but instead with tears of shock and gratitude because she was treating me like a human being. Once she spelled my name in sticks on the ground. ("Zhen-ee-fair, ¡mira!")

The big problem, however, was the impenetrable language barrier. Nora didn't speak a word of English and I didn't speak a word of Spanish. There were plenty of Spanish-speaking kids, though, so I never got to spend time with her. I followed her during recess once, but her Spanish-speaking groupies just eyed me suspiciously the entire time, sending me signals that I was definitely not welcome in the group.***

So yeah. I hated second grade immensely. I was relieved when Mr. Romero announced near the end of the year that we'd be taking a test to see if anyone was eligible for the gifted program--which meant going to another school. I don't think it occurred to me that I wouldn't get into the program. My thought was, "Oh good, I'll be going to another school next year."****

I passed that test with flying colors, and it was the best thing that happened to me as a kid. The next year I actually had friends again, even though I had developed shyness and a terribly quick crying reflex. I think I was pretty maladjusted at that point. I frequently acted like a cat... even when it wasn't socially appropriate.

I guess my mind is groping for an idea of what Pterodactyl will be like as her personality starts to develop. I don't know if she'll be anything like I was. Part of me is afraid that she, too, for whatever reason, will be the unpopular kid. I'm not sure how I'd handle it if I ever discovered that my daughter was having experiences like I had and as regularly as I had them in second grade. Oh well.

Bye for now,
(Hopefully soon to be asleep) Jenna and Pterodactyl

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*I've noticed that adults do this all the time.
**If I had to guess, Christina's problem with me was that I was smart. I didn't realize that at the time, but it's all I can think of. It's the only thing that made me stand out from the other kids. I got taken out of class regularly for more advanced instruction with some volunteer tutors. And Mr. Romero tended to praise me for knowing all the answers. ... Plus, in later years, I noticed that the "gifted" kids were largely disliked by the "non-gifted" kids, because apparently, we all thought we were better than everyone else. I don't know what the other gifted kids thought, but I thought that was super unfair. I never understood why smartness should have anything to do with who you played with at recess, but apparently it did matter to pretty much everyone else.
***The ability to speak Spanish was something I found many of the other kids to be immensely proud of. At some point, I realized that many of the same kids who hated the kids in the gifted program would flaunt their Spanish-speaking ability--that was something they could do much better than the gifted kids. Therefore, the gifted kids were inferior. ...Again, I was so confused. People make no sense.
****Christina announced that all the cool kids would purposely fail the test, because apparently, going to another school was a bad thing.