My Nameless, Nonexistent Children

Have you ever felt like the world is passing you by? As if people are maturing faster than you, doing things before you, or even taking things that were yours even though there were no legal rights of you owing what they took? I felt like this recently. Although I am totally unprepared and far from ready to have kids, I constantly think of baby names. At my job, I read through numerous names and when I come across the ones that sound catchy, I repeat them to myself over and over. I go through my checklist: can it be pronounced in English and Spanish? Is it common? Is it the best way to be spelled? Can it be associated with offensive words in either English or Spanish? I wouldn't want my child to go through what I went through for years. In elementary school, I was teased by a boy on the daily. He called me Vanessa la mayonesa.  (In English, "mayonesa" means mayonnaise.) I remember hating my name even more than I had before that horrible nickname.

I then put the name through this potentially-jinxing analysis: I sound out the first name with my boyfriend's last name--just in case I do end up being blessed with his child--and I make sure it has an eloquent and euphonious flow. But when I'm in a circle of soon-to-be mothers talking about names, they dance around those which I have already preselected.  It's as if they asked themselves, "Which names has Vanessa already chosen so we can choose them too and use them before she can?" Deep down it annoys me because I'm not the one who is about to have a baby, and even though there is no rule against recycling names, I wouldn't want my child to have a cousin with the same name.

Some days, I wonder to myself if I am waiting too long to have kids. My dreams are to be young enough to keep up with them before my body begins to deteriorate faster than it is now; I'd want my grandparents to meet them and love the child I created; and I'd want my closest cousin's children to be able to play together. But at this rate, their children will be teenagers by the time I decide to have kids. On the flip side, I'm like: Hello, you're 22 and don't even know what you want to do with the rest of your own life! How can you decide for another human being? And is having the perfect, unused name for your child worth having to change the lives of two people before you both are ready? I would want to be able to provide for my future child with little struggle. I would want to be happy to announce my pregnancy (not be ashamed or embarrassed). And more than anything, I'd want to provide them with guidance and wisdom like the special people in my life have continuously given to me.

Since I'm already on this rant, I'll go a step further and ask you all: How can I get my boyfriend to not want a ton of kids?  He is obsessed with the idea of having 4+ kids. Although I only want two, three is my absolute max! I just don't understand why he would have that kind of need. I don't think he has considered that we'd  have to take 4+ kids to amusement parks and manage to not lose one of them, make sure they are all well-behaved at church, get them through school, and if the majority are girls, that would mean we'd have a bunch of quinceñeras to pay for. I mean, we could always be super cheap and conjoin all of our daughter's 15th birthday parties together, but I'd want each of them to have their special day. I wouldn't want to be like that family with 19 kids. That's just not my thing. Bottom line, I don't know how else to convince him haha!

Mean Girl

As many times as I've thought of seeking revenge, hurting someone, or wanting something bad to happen to them, I've never fully acted upon my plans. Although I do have the courage--and believe me, I have plenty of it--I'd feel horrible after doing wrong. I am a holistic believer in karma. And if I must go into slight detail about that, I'd say it's because I've always believed in God having a plan...a solution for everyone and everything. So, as much as I would want to take vengeful matters into my own hands, I simply don't [always] because things sort themselves out the way they ought to be. This past Friday, I wanted to sock my co-worker's face in. Aside from having defaced property from time to time, I'm really not a violent person. But this guy nearly had me say the things you'd never say in front of your mother.

As soon as I got myself upstairs on Friday morning, I walked into an office of ringing phones. This surprised me because Fridays are usually slow, so I've learned. I got to my desk and did the usual thing: place my purse underneath, turn on the computer with my foot, and stare at the screen until it asked for a password. While I waited, the phones had still been going off nearly every minute but everyone was busy speaking to someone on a different line. I took a look at my phone and noticed the red lights, the ones that indicated which lines were in use, were all lit. And again the phone rang. I peeked over my desk-fence and saw that everyone around me was still holding a phone to their ear. It ringed some more. I hesitated to answer because I had a ton of orders to print that morning. But see, I'm the type of person to be happy to help, when I'm not being lazy. So being the wonderful person that I was at 9am, I decided to multitask my own responsibilities with the tasks of others. I thought, it can't hurt to do both. 

As soon as my co-worker M decided to make his appearance, he straight-up yelled at me in front of everyone for taking phone call orders. "What are you...why are you taking orders?" Leaving me no time to answer he continued, "You're supposed to be pulling the online orders."

In the most demeaning and calm tone I could sound out, I told the Chinese Harry Potter, "I know, M. That's exactly what I was doing. But can't you see that everyone else is busy? I'm just helping them."

"Why? You are MY assistant. That's the whole point of you being here. You do what I say!"

The room grew silent and cold. Deep down I wanted to put him in his place and tell him that's not what the boss said when she hired me. Besides, all you do is boss me around and kick back while I do all the work. I ended up answering respectfully for two reasons: 1. the boss is his aunt. 2. I wouldn't have gotten anywhere by raising my voice as loud as his.

Monday Mayhem

I feel like I have been in one of those Allstate mayhem commercials, except, that mayhem man wasn't there, nor was the Allstate man with the deep voice, or any professional stunt drivers. It was just me, and two others involved. Although no one was hurt, I wish my car was hit by the car trying to merge into my lane. I know I should be thankful nothing else happened and that it was truly an accident, but I wish I wasn't the one to be blamed. My car is a wreck and soon, my pockets will be starving. I am still regretful, ashamed, tense, and exhaling loudly as if I need someone to ask me, "What's wrong?" But I hope no one does because I will probably mentally berate the first person to ask, and then answer them with the least words as possible.

If I were someone else, I'd tell me to get through the insurance process, report the damages, deal with what is in front of me (before I screw that up, too), pay for my mistake, and move on because life always does. People mess up, it's in our nature. And if I keep reminding myself of how stupid I was for letting it happen, I'll never get over it and I'll just keep playing it over and over in my head. Who cares if my dad said my story made no sense. It's how I saw it happen.

Advice seems all so easy when you're giving it away. But it's another thing when you're giving it to yourself. It doesn't seem to digest the same way. I should have honked my horn. I could have kept scanning my surroundings instead of solely focusing on whether or not the car beside me would hit me, and I could have and would have done all of those things, but I just wanted to get to work. And now that I'm here, I barely feel an ounce better. Well, it beats dealing with the awkwardness at home.

I used to think blogs were for hipsters

I call myself a writer but have never created a blog in the past?  Who does that? Obviously someone with a Creative Writing degree, without guidance, and simply too afraid of exposing their blood, sweat, pleasures, and tears for the public to see. I was convinced these spaces of outlet were for people that always have something to nag about, people who sit in coffee shops and drink overly priced beverages while they waste time writing things no one will ever read. I thought it was pointless and lonesome. Truth is, I have come to realize that one cannot be great at something without practicing something they enjoy. I once read an article how reading/writing is like building a couch. Just because you've sat on many, doesn't mean you can construct one correctly.

Luckily, I like to try almost everything at least once. So why not start a blog? Friends and family have constantly asked me, "If you like to write, why don't you start a blog?"  My answers were always passive or negative. But I think it's time to take action and see where it can take me.  Besides, it wouldn't hurt for me to tell the stories, thoughts, and feelings that I keep to myself half of the time.