First World Problems: We Got Cable, and Suddenly My Three-Bed Is Too Small

I’m an introvert. I know the internet is currently on tail-end of its “WTF IS AN INTROVERT” phase, but it’s relevant. I much prefer quiet and solitude. I need personal space. Lots of it. It's hard to come by when a) you work in an open plan office, b) live with your boyfriend, and c) do not have a personal space in your own apartment. Right now it’s causing a lot of emotional distance problems in my relationship. I'm not checked in, I admit it.

When we were finally forced to get our own internet and stop mooching off the landlord, Lennon put the account in his name, and got us some goddamn fancy FIOS. The kind that has cable. I have never owned a television, and the last house I lived in that had some form of TV entertainment (besides my parents') was in my sophomore year of college. His television was old, and not flat. We have limited space. You can see where this is going.

Not here, though.

Enter his (he paid for it) new television. I like putting on pilates, yoga, or watching Netflix via the XBOX. I could do all this with my laptop, but TV is bigger and nicer and the sound isn’t coming out of a three-year-old Macbook’s blown-out speakers. The rest of the time, it drives me a little crazy.

Did you know TV still has ads?

Lennon is a media junkie with ADD. He’s an multi-concentrator. Last night when we got home from dinner, he started watching Family Guy on television, and a nerd-stuff webseries. At the same time. With audible volume on both. I have a thing where if there’s more than one type of noise going on at a particular volume, I can’t concentrate on anything but getting out of there as fast as possible.

I took my Kindle into the bedroom to read, just like every night since we got the television. At the end of the day I am desperate for quiet. Lennon is desperate for distraction. We don’t spend time together in the late evening anymore. I know we don’t have to watch television: he can turn it off and read comics, or play on his phone, or any number of other things.

But the television asks the least of him, and he needs that recharge too.

It's not a total wash; the quiet downtime is necessary for me to continue functioning. But, relegated to the bedroom because of the TV... there is no space left in the apartment to be mine.

I’d love the solution to be setting aside another room, so he can be comfortable owning spaces in the rest of the apartment. Unfortunately, everything I would use to furnish it is needed elsewhere, and I don’t want to take anything away for fear I will say he can use the room for a specific purpose and suddenly it will "belong" to him... which is what tends to happen.

I'm very good about respecting other people's spaces. I don't like disturbing the energy, or otherwise changing the feel of it. I try to keep my own energy small if I'm in there. It's why Lennon now has the whole office and I generally don't go in there except to get a book from a shelf, or if I need to work from home. I don't go into his dressing room (the second bedroom) unless I need the iron, or a towel from the closet. The kitchen is common space. The living room is common space. The front bedroom is big closet storage and the rabbit's space, because she's destructive, and pulls books off the shelf.

And she will eat them.

Houston, we have a problem. We have a three-bedroom apartment, and I don't even fit in it.

Babies, babies and more babies

I was in Texas with my boyfriend for Labor Day weekend and after the excessive summer heat of the south I am so happy to be back in New York where fall has decided to grace us with her lovely presence.  I am also appreciating my life as I always do when I return from a trip; my perfectly soft bed, my conveniently located closet full of dresses and shoes, and the ability to do pretty much what I want to do when I want to do it.  I love traveling and seeing new places, but I also always love to return home and revel in the things that I had been taking for granted before I left.

The reason I am extra pleased to be back in New York after my latest trip is because we were in Austin, Texas to visit my boyfriend's brother, his wife and their three month old son.  Now before I get myself into trouble here let me make the disclaimer that I thoroughly enjoyed myself and had a lovely time hanging out and getting to know my boyfriend's family.  They are really chill, sweet people and the baby is about as cute and well behaved as you could possibly imagine, which is pretty darn cute.  But we stayed at their place and worked on their schedule, which is always a little stressful.

But the heat was easily escapable with central air and swimming in the creek and the house was immaculately kept and my boyfriend's family were excellent hosts keeping us as comfortable and as entertained as possible.  What really ruffled my feathers that weekend was the sheer amount of time that we spent with the baby.  The baby was cute and barely cried and is practically my nephew, but I just don't like babies that much and a five day vacation that revolved around a three month old was just more than I could handle.

I don't really know what it is about babies or myself that makes me want to leave the room instead of coo over them, but I have never really had any interest in small children.  Sure I had baby dolls as a kid and I did a decent amount of babysitting and teaching children various activities at summer camps, but I always preferred working with kids closer to the age of ten where they could articulate themselves and have something interesting to say about the world.  And for all my capabilities and motherly instincts and experience working with children of all ages I still would rather go to a museum than gawk over a baby's smile.

They kind of smell funny to be honest and I mean they smell funny when their clean; they smell horrifying when they are dirty and soiled.  And they are pretty boring too, all they do is sit there and stare at whatever you put in front of them; I just don't see what is so entertaining about a baby making random sounds that have nothing to do with anything.  And as soon as the baby isn't happy things get really ugly.  Messes are made, screaming ensues, and no one can focus on anything but the kid and no rest is to be had until the baby is pacified.

Maybe I'm selfish, maybe I'm just young (I'm only 24!) or maybe I'm a product of my generation and am just an independent woman and a confused college graduate more concerned with what I am doing with my life than if a baby can hold it's head up by itself.  I do think that it is strange that I feel the need to explain myself to everyone who asks about my relationship with kids that I am not some monster of a person or a disgrace to the human race I just don't like babies and whatever the reason may be I don't think that is such a crime.

Of course it really isn't a crime and I suppose no one is really judging me too harshly based on my reaction to babies.  I'm actually pretty fortunate that my family is more concerned with my career and my well being then having grand-kids.  But I guess my concern stems from the only person's opinion that I am truly concerned about.  As where I have no interest in babies or having kids at all for that matter, my boyfriend gets a doe eyed look when he watches his nephew squirm in his car-seat and I guess there is the dramatic, irrational part of me that worries he is going to leave me if he realizes how I really feel about babies.  The reason this is a ridiculous notion is because we have talked about kids before and I have told him all the plethora of reason I don't want to have children and he has so far shown no signs of dumping me or even pressuring me to change my mind (because he is amazing!)  But my dramatic side is not governed by the silly rules of reason and I worry that there is something wrong with me, I worry that my boyfriend will find someone who is ready to settle down with him, and I worry that I will decide to settle down myself one day and miss out on so many amazing experiences.

I suppose at 24 no one (except for myself since I often feel more like I'm 80) really expects me to have a baby of my own (or my life "together") and no one really cares if I want to hold the baby for an hour or only a minute, but sometimes life challenges you with experiences that you are not ready for.  And during the hours that I find myself unwillingly in charge of a tiny human I have to trust that the 80 year old in me will know how to handle the situation as gracefully as possible.  And so my weekend in Texas, while long and more stressful than I prefer my vacations, is over and was really quite nice now that I look back on it.  And while I'm not home free from babies since my boyfriend's other brother lives much closer than Texas and also has a small baby in tow, I am for the moment relieved to be baby free.