The Voices In My Head

I am a podcast junkie. A truth which is not borne out by the fact that I haven't listened to most of my favorite ones in months. Just listening to NPR in the mornings has become an exercise in futility, much of that due to a certain three year old who has rediscovered the word "why", and the fact that no matter how silent it might be in the car with each child happily engaged in their own activity, the minute I answer the phone (on bluetooth, of course!) or turn on the radio, I am beseiged by a barrage of questions or the sudden need for my immediatel inclusion in whatever game of pretend is the flavor of the day. So I try to connect with a more erudite outside world via podcast when I am folding laundry at 10 pm or weeding the garden at 7am. But all too often lately there's a lot of competition going on even inside my own head for the direct attention of whoever it is who's hand is on the steering wheel.

There's the mama voice that frets over whether that cough is worsening, whether we're doing too many activities or too few, whether there are enough playdates, too much car time, and especially whether or not particular behavioral issues stem directly from my own personal character flaws. 

There's the noise about money and work and employment and health insurance and IRA's and 529's and car repairs and kids shoes. 

Even the latent actress in me occasionally makes her presence known, stamping her foot and asking petulantly when it's going to be HER turn again. 

The blog writer and poet and story author provides a constant background monologue, replete with snarky and hilarious comments but rarely breaking surface at the right time to make contact with me when I'm in front of the keyboard with enough energy to write it all down.

There's the massage therapist, the raft company owner, the daughter, sister, friend - oh, and the wife, each with their issues, concerns, responsibilities and desires that need addressing. And I desperately want to give each my full and undivided attention, but generally I can't find it anywhere. It seems irrevocably fractured. 

Strangest of all for me is that fact that there is actually, really, another person living inside of me. Not just close to me or next to me but INSIDE. And it's the most silent one of all. This person is with me all day every day and I know the least about him than anyone else in my world. It really is an amazing act of faith.  We didn't do any of the testing available to check his chromosomes or terrify us with things that may or may not be wrong with him - we did an ultrasound that we felt would tell us adequately if he had anything drastically wrong enough so as to be visible.

 So there he is - inside of me - kicking the small hands of Jordan as she feels for his movements before falling asleep each night, receiving the kisses Sawyer bestows regularly on my belly. There is the voice inside my head that frets about what he might or might not be like, twinned with the delicious anticipation of his arrival and how lucky he will be to have Jordan and Sawyer as his siblings. Tom makes lists of potential names for him and his smile every time he looks at my belly is all the reassurance I need that whatever joys or challenges this person presents, we'll face them together.

My mind can seem so fractured sometimes as to make that little core of me feel crowded out by all the simultaneous conversations. But those few times on trips that I have had a longer stretch of time to myself, I find that it can be the silence itself that is deafening: it's the chorus of my family (and the voices) that lets me know where - and who - I am.