Baby pain
I wish I could cut out the part of my heart/mind/soul that wants another baby. I’m so tired of walking around with this same old pain. I wish I could somehow move past it, get on with life, quit wanting a baby. I talked to my therapist about this but she says that I’m too young to give up. I agree with her, I mean, even the miracle baby doctor is absolutely positive that I’ll be pregnant eventually and apparently, he doesn’t say that to all of his patients. OK, so I’ll get pregnant eventually. Or at least that’s the theory. There are plenty of people who *should* be pregnant in theory and they’re not. But I can’t give up yet. I can pretend not to be trying but c’mon. After all of this time monitoring my fertility signs I *know* when I’m ovulating and so tossing out the thermometer and simply having sex whenever I feel like it and pretending I don’t care if I show up pregnant or not isn’t going to work.
We’ll have been trying for a baby for two years come December. That’s a long time to be on this roller coaster. Sure, I know other people have tried longer — a lot longer — and that at least we have the comfort of our son but hey, this is *my* journal/blog thingie and I can rant and rave all I want. So there. Anyway, of course in that two years there have been more than a few times when I just “knew” I was pregnant but wasn’t (there was also one pregnancy that ended in an early miscarriage but I digress). Last month happened to be one of those times (I think the progesterone supplements the miracle baby doc has me on caused all the pregnancy symptoms I had) and besides being deliciously, cautiously happy about a possibly impending baby, I also felt this HUGE relief that I could finally stop being in pain. I could join the real world again. I could actually, truly smile when the inevitable pregnancy announcements come my way. Then my period came and in the next week, two of my friends emailed to say they were pregnant. One is thrilled, one is not. Both were sensitive. But I still wanted to delete their emails and pretend like I’d never seen them, didn’t know these people.
It’s hard because I don’t want to seem selfish or crippled or pitiful but no, I don’t really want to spend time with pregnant people. It’s painful. Actually, it’s excrutiating. So maybe I don’t show up for as many social events as I used to since everyone there seems so damn fertile and maybe I have to walk out of the room to go check on the coffee when really I can’t listen to people talk about baby names anymore. I don’t think you can understand this unless you’ve been there. I suppose you can kind of imagine it if you think of your own dearest, most cherished dream. The one you’re not sure you’ll get but you want it so bad it brings tears to your eyes. Now imagine someone your friend standing across from you and they’re a bit embarrassed but glowing a little, too, you know. And they say, “Listen, I know you really wanted that starring role/vacation in Spain/house by the shore and you’ve been wishing for it for a long time and aiming your life that way and you totally deserve it but here’s the thing … I just got it.” Then they either bubble over with joy and tell you how they can’t wait to decorate that house by the shore and they want to show you the paint samples they just picked up because they know that you’ve been thinking so much about it that you probably have some great ideas for color schemes. Or else they tell you that the problem is that they’re not so sure they want to go to Spain and they feel a bit ambivalent, isn’t life unfair, they say, that you want it so bad but I got it and I’m not even sure I want it?
Oh I so wish I could drop off the planet for a little while. This hurts so fucking bad.
