I’m not that big of a talker period.
I don’t enjoy talking on the phone. I don’t even enjoy talking in person much of the time.
Every now and then, I’ll end up in an actual interesting conversation with someone and then I’ll think — wow, this talking thing isn’t so bad.
But inevitably, the interesting portion of that conversation will end and then it’s on to talking about things I’ve already talked about/listened to at least 300 times.
My husband, on the other hand, just looooves to talk.
He likes to talk to people he knows. He likes to talk to people he doesn’t know. He likes to talk on the phone. He likes to talk in person. He likes to both talk and listen.
We have a lot in common.
But this is not one of those things.
I think it’s interesting, in a why-would-you-start-that kind of way, that he’ll talk to complete strangers in a restaurant, grocery store or even a parking lot.
I’m the person who puts my ipod speakers in my ears the second I get on a plane so the person next to me doesn’t start a conversation.
I’m not a total bitch. I promise.
I’m just not much into chit-chat.
As I explain to my husband when he marvels at my lack of interest in chewing the fat, there are only so many words allotted to any given person in a day and he uses up 100% of his and 80% of mine, so what am I supposed to do?
But I like it that way.
So imagine my surprise when I started going out and about with a preemie who has an apnea monitor and a feeding tube. And everywhere I go, people start asking me about him, or telling me their preemie stories.
It would be impossible for me to tell you how many of these experiences I’ve had in the last few months since Meyer came home from the hospital.
He can’t exactly stay with a babysitter, so I drag him everywhere I go.
And people stop me.
In malls. Doctor offices. Grocery stores. At Asher’s preschool. On the sidewalk. In the drugstore. At the dog groomer. At festivals. And once, in a public bathroom.
Which is kinda weird.
But the weirdest thing of all is that I don’t mind it so much.
At least 75% of these people end up sharing preemie stories with me.
They were preemies, they had a preemie, their sister or neighbor had a preemie.
And without fail, everyone of them then tells me how great the kid is doing today.
It makes me smile. And feel a real sense of community.
And feel really good about my baby’s chances of being whatever kind of talented, accomplished or even just happy person he wants to be.
He’s already paying me back by being the best baby ever put on the planet.
We may have gone through some serious stuff for a few months.
There’s no “may” about it.
But I think he’s paying us back by being as little trouble as he can be from here on out.
Which makes him easy to drag all over the place all the time.
And puts us in public places where people want to talk to me all the time.
And for once, I kinda like it.
Maybe I should open myself up to general chit-chat with strangers more often?
After all, there’s bound to be some aspect of the weather I haven’t discussed with the postman 30 or 40 times.
Eh. That sounds hard.