In my first trimester, I was stunned by the onslaught of highly vivid dreams I ended up having. Very detailed and memorable, and very much like I wasn't sleeping. Rather living an entirely separate life when I should have been asleep. The amount of information to take in was rather exhausting, and I'd awake tired, rather than rested.
My second and third trimester have proved much less active in this same regard, overall. But in more recent nights, I've been having the same dream repeatedly. Different participants, but the same concept. My husband cheats on me. When I find out and confront him, he doesn't even care to hide it. He doesn't care at all. I rant and rave, and threaten.... And yet he doesn't care. He's un-phased.
I feel so sad and lonely in these dreams. Like I've been cast aside, and am no longer loved. It's crushing. So far, I've woken up from all three of these dreams to tears in the twilight hours of the morning. Most have lasted a far reach into the regular day. They've left me with a dark feeling around my shoulders that has lingered more than I felt it was welcomed to.
A normal human being would turn to their husband and ask for comfort and physical contact as reassurance. I only bury my head and mention nothing. An introspect into my psyche tells me that, on some level, I feel that these dreams are a reflection of the lack of involvement my husband has with me at this point in our marriage. The eternal struggle of spouses who are raising small children; the dissipation of the connection of love and companionship.
I am unsure if this is because somewhere buried deep, we don't want to work on the relationship we have, or that he's genuinely oblivious to the fact that we haven't worked on our relationship in a very, very long time.
In tumultuous times of our previous married years, we came up with ways to better communicate with each other. Suggestions for ourselves to be better at what we were doing badly. We'd write lists. Notes. Charts. Letters. And, thinking we had the problem licked just by talking about it, we simply never used any of the tools we came up with. At one point we even saw a couples therapist, and spent time doing worksheets at home to discuss with each other and come up with ways to work on the overcoming these problems. Needless to say, I filled out my portions, and he did not. He just never went back to the therapist. Out of shame and defeat, I didn't go back after that either.
Once it was evident that any work I was ever going to try to do in my marriage would not be met halfway, I think I gave up permanently. I've never tried that hard again, I've just let things that are wrong remain wrong and practice unhealthy tactics to deal with them. Like nagging, bullying, name-calling. All the things I never thought I'd use against someone I "loved".
I used to be very sure that I loved my husband, too. But because I know that I am the only one who wanted to put in the work, that I am ultimately alone with a person who would never work as hard as I would to build a stronger relationship, I don't think I'll ever do it again.
I wish these were feelings that didn't bother me as much as they did. I guess in a way it's better that they do, because it means I care enough for them too. How do I differentiate between feeling terrible that my spouse doesn't love me enough to move mountains for me, and just being on the shit end of the stick? Does this mean we are only maintaining the farce that we love each other, and that all true vestiges of it are really gone? Are we just going through the motions?
Is this really what I'm thinking, or have I gone completely batshit insane, and I have no idea it's happened. Like in memento where the guy has no concept that it's just him running around insane in his own head. That's another highly likely scenario for me at this point in life (and pregnancy).
I'm such a mess. I feel so lonely.
Showing posts with label Reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reflection. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Taking a breath
The wind along the front range is what I might consider gale force; but I'm not a meteorologist, so my opinion isn't official. It was, however, strong enough wind to take the tops off the trash, move gardening stuff, and freak the hell out of the dogs and the kid (and me, but I stayed quiet).
The last 2 months have been a challenge for me, and frankly, I'm not used to a challenge. I figure this sounds lame, and I ought to do some 'splainin' on it.
I'm used to getting what I want, and having the capacity to make that happen. When I want a pair of boots; I budget for them or pick up more work. Bam. If I want to learn a skill; I gather my information and read/watch/absorb and plunge right in. Bam. If I want to pick up a hobby; I learn costs/lessons/efforts/time and BAM. If I have a goal I want to crush, I set it in my cross hairs, list out hurdles to overcome and what I need to do to see it through, and BAM.
You see how that goes? Easy peasy. But usually, when I put my mind to something, I don't fuck around about it. I also happen to obsess about it, which makes it easier to accomplish. I'll usually push everything else that isn't essential out to my peripheral world, and focus myself on accomplishing this one thing. I'm not going to list all of the things this list encompasses because it's years worth of activities that I've been up to, and it'll just end up making some weird pat-myself-on-the-back-list. I can do that on paper and give myself an "atta girl" while I'm looking it over, or something. Yeah.
So this whole pregnancy shtick is really hard to nail down. I didn't think it would though, and that makes me seem like kind of a whiny baby. And yeah; maybe I am. I know there are other people who have been doing this a lot longer than I have, and have had to endure many times over what I have only BEGUN to experience. My heart goes out to those couples (or singles). Very seriously.
This shit is ridiculous.
The holidays approach upon us, and I reflect more and more about what I am blessed to have, and what I normally feel a great deal of fortune and appreciation for, which is my family. As pathetic and campy as it sounds, they have become what I was always in need of. The thing that I was looking for, was also looking for me as well. These things in my life that I have surrounded myself, they bring me great joy. I have very little to despair for, aside from not being able to have a baby together. In some ways this could be considered a fairly nominal thing. Sometimes I myself make it into a nominal thing, however. It would have the potential to become a very large part of our family (making us a 4, and not a 3 anymore). But what cannot be helped, simply cannot be helped.
I still write in my journal to the baby that, I'm frankly not sure I will see soon, in hopes that someday he or she will be able to read it and know that even before they were made, they were loved and thought about with great anticipation. Just like their older brother was. It's a way to keep my hopes up, and to keep going through this. Poor C is just floating along with me; unable to help much more than by just being near me (since a man isn't going through the physical part, like the exams, the calls, the visits, picking up the specimen, etc). He's with me, and that is something I am thankful for.
So this holiday season I will hold my family close, and remember that we are still whole and filled with love for each other. Hopefully our whole will include a fourth before too long, but until then I will keep waiting with blithe anticipation that it won't be a very long wait.
The last 2 months have been a challenge for me, and frankly, I'm not used to a challenge. I figure this sounds lame, and I ought to do some 'splainin' on it.
I'm used to getting what I want, and having the capacity to make that happen. When I want a pair of boots; I budget for them or pick up more work. Bam. If I want to learn a skill; I gather my information and read/watch/absorb and plunge right in. Bam. If I want to pick up a hobby; I learn costs/lessons/efforts/time and BAM. If I have a goal I want to crush, I set it in my cross hairs, list out hurdles to overcome and what I need to do to see it through, and BAM.
You see how that goes? Easy peasy. But usually, when I put my mind to something, I don't fuck around about it. I also happen to obsess about it, which makes it easier to accomplish. I'll usually push everything else that isn't essential out to my peripheral world, and focus myself on accomplishing this one thing. I'm not going to list all of the things this list encompasses because it's years worth of activities that I've been up to, and it'll just end up making some weird pat-myself-on-the-back-list. I can do that on paper and give myself an "atta girl" while I'm looking it over, or something. Yeah.
So this whole pregnancy shtick is really hard to nail down. I didn't think it would though, and that makes me seem like kind of a whiny baby. And yeah; maybe I am. I know there are other people who have been doing this a lot longer than I have, and have had to endure many times over what I have only BEGUN to experience. My heart goes out to those couples (or singles). Very seriously.
This shit is ridiculous.
The holidays approach upon us, and I reflect more and more about what I am blessed to have, and what I normally feel a great deal of fortune and appreciation for, which is my family. As pathetic and campy as it sounds, they have become what I was always in need of. The thing that I was looking for, was also looking for me as well. These things in my life that I have surrounded myself, they bring me great joy. I have very little to despair for, aside from not being able to have a baby together. In some ways this could be considered a fairly nominal thing. Sometimes I myself make it into a nominal thing, however. It would have the potential to become a very large part of our family (making us a 4, and not a 3 anymore). But what cannot be helped, simply cannot be helped.
I still write in my journal to the baby that, I'm frankly not sure I will see soon, in hopes that someday he or she will be able to read it and know that even before they were made, they were loved and thought about with great anticipation. Just like their older brother was. It's a way to keep my hopes up, and to keep going through this. Poor C is just floating along with me; unable to help much more than by just being near me (since a man isn't going through the physical part, like the exams, the calls, the visits, picking up the specimen, etc). He's with me, and that is something I am thankful for.
So this holiday season I will hold my family close, and remember that we are still whole and filled with love for each other. Hopefully our whole will include a fourth before too long, but until then I will keep waiting with blithe anticipation that it won't be a very long wait.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Finding my blessings
So much about my life is revolving around getting pregnant right now, that a great deal of what I should be doing is following to the wayside. Like, my human development class for example. I haven't logged in to work on that all week, and my unit is due Sunday.
However, I should confess, between now and then is actually plenty of time for me to write a blog, a journal, read 3 chapters and take a test. The procrastinator in me has already worked that out, so I have about zero stress over it.
If there's not a pressing need to get this stuff done over a long period of time, frankly I don't want to spend every night with this one class. I've got kid-cuddling to do. Probably 26 other things as well, but when faced with a toasty flannel-encased bed with your adoringly snuggly 6 year old, that other shit can wait.
I've started reading the Little House on The Prairie books to G. He L.O.V.E.S. them, and I will ask him to practice his reading with me while I read some parts. I'm so pleased that he's getting into them, and how much he absorbs from them. We talk about the social issues of that era, and how that compares to our more modern times. At 6 years old, he's already begun to see the world as a far more overly-complicated place than it ought to be, which is tremendous to see him do.
I really need to start shopping for some good wool fleece. I have a friend with a local farm that I haven't been able to come visit (mostly schedule issues), but she's been saving a few nice fleeces from this spring for me, and I'd really love to hunker down this winter with some non-strenuous projects seeing as how we're still trying to conceive.
It should be said that beginning this whole "make a baby" parade shouldn't have been crusaded until after we finished remodeling the master bedroom (by ourselves no less, so it would cost $200, and not $2k) was true stupidity on our parts. I'm fairly sure our child now knows the word "cocksucker" as a result of both the steet rock hanging, and spraying texture.
It should be noted that I am a crappy drywaller. Do not hire me if you don't want your seams showing. Painting, however, is where my talents can really shine. Not shocking. Way to go me for putting my fancy art degree to use, finally. Thanks mom!
Husband calls me every day while I'm at work and asks me how pregnant I feel. I love that he asks.
So here's the grit for today: My progesterone test came back at 4.6. A good level would be more like 5-10 to support implantation of a fertilized egg. So, my OB will have me on clomid this cycle to push my ovaries a little harder to bring that up. While my cycle isn't expected for another few days (I am not out of the game until she shows up), that 4.6 is a hauntingly low number, so I really wouldn't be pregnant.
After that I'll do an ultrasound to see what my eggs are doing, then somewhere in there when I ovulate we'll shoot up some more donor semen and do another 2 weeks of tedious, tearful, terrible, glorious and boring waiting.
I have a peak window left in later November, which will put me in August/September (which we were going to "tr" to avoid because our anniversary is in September), but I'm going to steam roll this whole thing on through until I've got a bun in my basket.
If this get's any closer to conception in December, I"m going to end up with an October baby, and that's going to suck. Hubby's, (step)daughters AND baby's birthdays all in the same month.
Fuck it though. Baby's going to come when baby comes, and we can just suck it the fuck up.
Zing, and Zing!!!
However, I should confess, between now and then is actually plenty of time for me to write a blog, a journal, read 3 chapters and take a test. The procrastinator in me has already worked that out, so I have about zero stress over it.
If there's not a pressing need to get this stuff done over a long period of time, frankly I don't want to spend every night with this one class. I've got kid-cuddling to do. Probably 26 other things as well, but when faced with a toasty flannel-encased bed with your adoringly snuggly 6 year old, that other shit can wait.
I've started reading the Little House on The Prairie books to G. He L.O.V.E.S. them, and I will ask him to practice his reading with me while I read some parts. I'm so pleased that he's getting into them, and how much he absorbs from them. We talk about the social issues of that era, and how that compares to our more modern times. At 6 years old, he's already begun to see the world as a far more overly-complicated place than it ought to be, which is tremendous to see him do.
I really need to start shopping for some good wool fleece. I have a friend with a local farm that I haven't been able to come visit (mostly schedule issues), but she's been saving a few nice fleeces from this spring for me, and I'd really love to hunker down this winter with some non-strenuous projects seeing as how we're still trying to conceive.
It should be said that beginning this whole "make a baby" parade shouldn't have been crusaded until after we finished remodeling the master bedroom (by ourselves no less, so it would cost $200, and not $2k) was true stupidity on our parts. I'm fairly sure our child now knows the word "cocksucker" as a result of both the steet rock hanging, and spraying texture.
It should be noted that I am a crappy drywaller. Do not hire me if you don't want your seams showing. Painting, however, is where my talents can really shine. Not shocking. Way to go me for putting my fancy art degree to use, finally. Thanks mom!
Husband calls me every day while I'm at work and asks me how pregnant I feel. I love that he asks.
So here's the grit for today: My progesterone test came back at 4.6. A good level would be more like 5-10 to support implantation of a fertilized egg. So, my OB will have me on clomid this cycle to push my ovaries a little harder to bring that up. While my cycle isn't expected for another few days (I am not out of the game until she shows up), that 4.6 is a hauntingly low number, so I really wouldn't be pregnant.
After that I'll do an ultrasound to see what my eggs are doing, then somewhere in there when I ovulate we'll shoot up some more donor semen and do another 2 weeks of tedious, tearful, terrible, glorious and boring waiting.
I have a peak window left in later November, which will put me in August/September (which we were going to "tr" to avoid because our anniversary is in September), but I'm going to steam roll this whole thing on through until I've got a bun in my basket.
If this get's any closer to conception in December, I"m going to end up with an October baby, and that's going to suck. Hubby's, (step)daughters AND baby's birthdays all in the same month.
Fuck it though. Baby's going to come when baby comes, and we can just suck it the fuck up.
Zing, and Zing!!!
Thursday, November 5, 2015
T-Minus 4 days
I'm obsessing.
My cycle is due by the 9th or 10th. I could begin spotting as soon as the 8th. I was insanely emotional yesterday, and then totally in the doldrums today. My body feels empty and devoid of the subtle changes of pregnancy. No little cramps, little swelling, chest tenderness.
I keep stupidly holding on to the fact that with G, there were no symptoms until I realized I was at 35 days without a period, then a week later I was hit with intermittent nausea that rarely produced the relief of throwing up. Just swirling, dizzying, awful nausea.
My ObGyn is out of the office until Friday, so I couldn't call and freak out yesterday.
During my last IUI, he said that the follicle was mature, and the egg was already released. It would be a high likelihood of a boy. While I don't necessarily want to know whether I have a higher chance of a boy or not (and I am secretly hoping for a girl, since I know this will be my absolute last shot at children and I'd like to have someone, who, after her terrible teen years, I can bond with over female things. I'm sure my son will be busy dating, and doing things that don't involve hanging out with his mom), it was mildly depressing to know that I would be having another boy, if I'm being honest.
More likely to have a boy, I should say.
I had a blood draw two days ago to test for progesterone, which would confirm that I have, in fact ovulated at all. I was supposed to get one on my first IUI, 7 days prior, but I very honestly slacked off and didn't bother. I have no defense. I'm a dick.
I felt more physical changes in the first round than in this one, but we were still remodeling the basement and I was working out every other day. I remain convinced for no reason that this was a bad thing for me. This time, however, nothing. No womb-gurgling, no exhaustion. Just.... Nada. :(
I had a cramp here and there, but nothing else. Especially on Halloween night. I was totally bloated, but I couldn't tell if that was because I had a hamburger or not (and burgers tend to stop me up).
4 more days to miss my cycle and then if this round wasn't successful, I'll likely ovulate somewhere around the 17th or 20th, depending.
I had acupuncture on the 3rd, and while I didn't take a wholly deep nap, I did get a few light zzz's in. I woke up a few times and found myself talking to my body, in my mind. Telling it we were doing great, we were in this together, and that we could do it. Together. Talking to baby and telling him/her that they were wanted, and I hope they were there already, and I couldn't wait to see them, how much Mommy loved them. It made me tear up something awful behind my closed eyes. I think of people who go through this for years, and seriously question whether or not I could go through this for that long. I imagine that the pain lessens over time, despite that you keep trying. Reality kind of fades into the background so you can get through the anguish, in a way.
Joined an online message board of women who are in similar positions. They're giving me a lot of great information, which I have immensely appreciated. Helps to know you're not the only one.
Hubs called this morning to see if I felt anything. Preggo or not. He was a little sad to hear that I still felt the same. It was nice that he called me. It lifted my spirits a bit. It's kind of the first thing he's really done to reach out and connect with me about since we started TTC.
My cycle is due by the 9th or 10th. I could begin spotting as soon as the 8th. I was insanely emotional yesterday, and then totally in the doldrums today. My body feels empty and devoid of the subtle changes of pregnancy. No little cramps, little swelling, chest tenderness.
I keep stupidly holding on to the fact that with G, there were no symptoms until I realized I was at 35 days without a period, then a week later I was hit with intermittent nausea that rarely produced the relief of throwing up. Just swirling, dizzying, awful nausea.
My ObGyn is out of the office until Friday, so I couldn't call and freak out yesterday.
During my last IUI, he said that the follicle was mature, and the egg was already released. It would be a high likelihood of a boy. While I don't necessarily want to know whether I have a higher chance of a boy or not (and I am secretly hoping for a girl, since I know this will be my absolute last shot at children and I'd like to have someone, who, after her terrible teen years, I can bond with over female things. I'm sure my son will be busy dating, and doing things that don't involve hanging out with his mom), it was mildly depressing to know that I would be having another boy, if I'm being honest.
More likely to have a boy, I should say.
I had a blood draw two days ago to test for progesterone, which would confirm that I have, in fact ovulated at all. I was supposed to get one on my first IUI, 7 days prior, but I very honestly slacked off and didn't bother. I have no defense. I'm a dick.
I felt more physical changes in the first round than in this one, but we were still remodeling the basement and I was working out every other day. I remain convinced for no reason that this was a bad thing for me. This time, however, nothing. No womb-gurgling, no exhaustion. Just.... Nada. :(
I had a cramp here and there, but nothing else. Especially on Halloween night. I was totally bloated, but I couldn't tell if that was because I had a hamburger or not (and burgers tend to stop me up).
4 more days to miss my cycle and then if this round wasn't successful, I'll likely ovulate somewhere around the 17th or 20th, depending.
I had acupuncture on the 3rd, and while I didn't take a wholly deep nap, I did get a few light zzz's in. I woke up a few times and found myself talking to my body, in my mind. Telling it we were doing great, we were in this together, and that we could do it. Together. Talking to baby and telling him/her that they were wanted, and I hope they were there already, and I couldn't wait to see them, how much Mommy loved them. It made me tear up something awful behind my closed eyes. I think of people who go through this for years, and seriously question whether or not I could go through this for that long. I imagine that the pain lessens over time, despite that you keep trying. Reality kind of fades into the background so you can get through the anguish, in a way.
Joined an online message board of women who are in similar positions. They're giving me a lot of great information, which I have immensely appreciated. Helps to know you're not the only one.
Hubs called this morning to see if I felt anything. Preggo or not. He was a little sad to hear that I still felt the same. It was nice that he called me. It lifted my spirits a bit. It's kind of the first thing he's really done to reach out and connect with me about since we started TTC.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Empowerment, or Deranged Psychosis?
Because only three "events" were involved in the conception of my son, it's
reasonable to figure out when he came into the picture. I entered this
journey with a great deal of fear and doubt; mostly about myself, where I was
at that time in my life (unmarried, under-employed and a total mess), and
through the ensuing years I found ways to bring myself up, and surround myself
with success of my own making. I shed a number of tears first at my own
foolishness, in that bringing a child into the world so vastly unprepared to
tackle parenting. Then later tears of guilt that it would not be
born into a home with two loving hearts, and just the one.
As it turned out, one loving heart was all that was needed. It has never ceased to amaze me at how lucky I was to have my little boy, and how relatively easy everything he brought with him was. Sure, it was a learning process; I had no idea what to do when he was awake, fed, dry, and prepped for bed at 3am, but I figured it all out eventually. I still have moments of panic as a parent on those "what to do's", and the kid is 6 1/2 now.
Time passed, and I met someone, and we liked each other. But he came with baggage, like I did. His was a teenage daughter and a vasectomy. I tread this introduction with in trepidation; infertility put a major thorn in the side of my hopes for another baby, but ultimately he expressed that he'd pay to have it reconnected, or we could move onto other options like donor sperm, adoption or fostering. He was very open and willing for all the possibilities. He recognized how hasty that decision was on his part.
It's been 4 years of marriage now. Lots of ups and downs, lots of delays and backtracking on the plans to move forward with this. We found out that reconnecting a vasectomy is regarded as elective surgery, and not covered with insurance to the tune of around 10k. The efficacy of it plummets with every passing year you've had it. It's as though once the swimmers were shut in, their health declined without hope of improvement. Sucking them out of the testicle with a needle should only be done by a professional, and would only be useful for IVF. This is 18K per round.
Much to his chagrin, this left us with adoption (for around 40k, and that's for foreign kids!), foster children, or donated sperm. As a man, none of those options really felt appealing to him. He had no part in the production. Ultimately, this is where he started to lose his interest. Conversations subsequent to this stage involved him not wanting to read of the info on any donors that had similar features to his, or show interest in coming with me to meet the OB who would perform my IUI.
I met him at 29, and I'm now 34, and still waiting to make moves towards baby#2. By all accounts, if I were to get pregnant right now, and give birth just prior to my 35th birthday, I kid you not: I would be labeled a geriatric mother. That's right. 10 years before when menopause might be coming to call, I've already been shoved aside to the geriatric ward, where OBs automatically sign you up for your C-section the second you get a double-line on your piss-wand.
At first I was able to keep doing things like reading up on pregnancy nutrition, exercises, birth groups and clubs. But as other women kept having delightful pregnancy announcements, luminous pregnancy photos, smiling round and happily exhausted faces filled with anticipation and joy, and then squishy and milk-smelling babies... I felt myself start to crumble. It didn't happen right away at first. It happened when I couldn't watch birth videos anymore without breaking into silent, and constantly-streaming tears. When I started hiding the baby photos in my Facebook feed. When I could no longer even open up the baby & kids section of Craigslist to browse for cheap & useful kids stuff,
When you're fertility incompetent, watching others around you conceive and celebrate, your resilience falls into the toilet, along with your hope and your ability to keep your head about you when a co-worker drops by with their newborn. Your fein an illness and stay in your cube, listening to the cooing across the office.
Challenges with fertility make women insane. They become toxic, like being sprayed by a skunk: the stench dies down after a while, but you feel like your nose has been so permeated with the smell, you're not even sure it totally went away to begin with. You keep sniffing and sniffing because you're sure it's still there.
Four years isn't as long as some people have battled and hoped. But oddly I read all these stories of couples that are supportive and strong, and hopeful still about their chances of their miracle baby coming to fruition, and I get envious. I think "how is it that I fall apart every time my husband tells me he thinks the time is wrong, and none of these people ever talk about how goddamned hard it is to keep waiting, and trying, and failing?!" I must be the only one with a mouth the size of the Rio Grand, because this shit has sucked.
When things have gotten bad.... Like we were shouting threats of the big D at each other, there was always the sadness in me that realized whoever this little baby was going to be, that I wanted to have, was never going to happen. And for a long time recently, it's been something that I've felt more and more.
I can't decide if my husband has postponed and stalled us out so long that I've finally given up hope and let the dream go, or I've just moved on emotionally from the issue. The apathy I experience on the subject is terrifying, to be honest. I can't believe I don't feel that urge anymore! The pull! The want!
I like to think I'm a good mom. I work hard on being patient, and loving, and honest. I like being fun, and my son and I always play little fun games and have conversations about wonderful things. He rides his bicycle with me while I go on runs in the evening, and always cheers me on to push myself harder. Every time I hold him in my arms I feel that I've done at least 1 thing right in my life, and it fills me with a lot of pride and happiness.
And yet I realize that once he's on his own.... he won't have anyone else in this world as family. No sibling near his age to commiserate with once my husband get old, and weirder than we are now. No one to shed tears with when he'd got to face losing one -or both- of us. And certainly no one to blame when one of them breaks something, and I demand to know who was screwing around with it. Ah, what fun it is to have a sibling to harass and torture!
I digress...... Deny as I might want to, but my best and youngest years are behind me. I'm sure AARP already has me on their future mailing lists, and my advertising choices via social media will stop being promotions for 5ks, and start being coupons for hemorrhoid creams. My time is running out, and the conversation I have with my husband always ends with "just a little longer".
Having my child was a fast and furious crash into a new routine, and a lot of changes. I managed to land on my feet and somehow amble into a run sometime after that. He wasn't planned, and I was in far worse shape in my life than I am now.
So unreservedly, albeit quietly, I have chosen my donor. B1047. I have tracked my periods and cycles diligently, and assuming that I get a positive ovulation around mid-July, this will be my plan to move forward.
For a few years I've been patient and laissez fair, allowing myself to ease up when my husband wouldn't engage when I suggested looking at donors or discussing when to map out the due date. Unfortunately that patience has worn so thin that what's left of my trust in the fact that "we'll get there, just a little longer" seems not to exist anymore.
Marriage shows you a lot about your spouse. Most specifically you get to see who this person is, an all their purity. With my husband I know that while he never wanted to be a father in the first place, he half-assedly raised his daughter (as long as things remained convenient). With me, he understood that in order to get me in a relationship, I was a packaged deal and that was something he had to shoulder.
Vasectomies are not hasty; they're deliberate. They're an act of finality. He didn't want the 1st kid he had, let alone anymore. Ex's are a hassle and who needs that shit?
Whatever this rant or rave is, be it pre-menopausal breakdown, or a manifesto of my plans to say "well fuck this, I'm not giving this part of my dreams up" and throwing the gauntlet out the window.
Really the saddest part of this is that if I get pregnant, and he's not on board at all for it...... I don't really care anymore.
As it turned out, one loving heart was all that was needed. It has never ceased to amaze me at how lucky I was to have my little boy, and how relatively easy everything he brought with him was. Sure, it was a learning process; I had no idea what to do when he was awake, fed, dry, and prepped for bed at 3am, but I figured it all out eventually. I still have moments of panic as a parent on those "what to do's", and the kid is 6 1/2 now.
Time passed, and I met someone, and we liked each other. But he came with baggage, like I did. His was a teenage daughter and a vasectomy. I tread this introduction with in trepidation; infertility put a major thorn in the side of my hopes for another baby, but ultimately he expressed that he'd pay to have it reconnected, or we could move onto other options like donor sperm, adoption or fostering. He was very open and willing for all the possibilities. He recognized how hasty that decision was on his part.
It's been 4 years of marriage now. Lots of ups and downs, lots of delays and backtracking on the plans to move forward with this. We found out that reconnecting a vasectomy is regarded as elective surgery, and not covered with insurance to the tune of around 10k. The efficacy of it plummets with every passing year you've had it. It's as though once the swimmers were shut in, their health declined without hope of improvement. Sucking them out of the testicle with a needle should only be done by a professional, and would only be useful for IVF. This is 18K per round.
Much to his chagrin, this left us with adoption (for around 40k, and that's for foreign kids!), foster children, or donated sperm. As a man, none of those options really felt appealing to him. He had no part in the production. Ultimately, this is where he started to lose his interest. Conversations subsequent to this stage involved him not wanting to read of the info on any donors that had similar features to his, or show interest in coming with me to meet the OB who would perform my IUI.
I met him at 29, and I'm now 34, and still waiting to make moves towards baby#2. By all accounts, if I were to get pregnant right now, and give birth just prior to my 35th birthday, I kid you not: I would be labeled a geriatric mother. That's right. 10 years before when menopause might be coming to call, I've already been shoved aside to the geriatric ward, where OBs automatically sign you up for your C-section the second you get a double-line on your piss-wand.
At first I was able to keep doing things like reading up on pregnancy nutrition, exercises, birth groups and clubs. But as other women kept having delightful pregnancy announcements, luminous pregnancy photos, smiling round and happily exhausted faces filled with anticipation and joy, and then squishy and milk-smelling babies... I felt myself start to crumble. It didn't happen right away at first. It happened when I couldn't watch birth videos anymore without breaking into silent, and constantly-streaming tears. When I started hiding the baby photos in my Facebook feed. When I could no longer even open up the baby & kids section of Craigslist to browse for cheap & useful kids stuff,
When you're fertility incompetent, watching others around you conceive and celebrate, your resilience falls into the toilet, along with your hope and your ability to keep your head about you when a co-worker drops by with their newborn. Your fein an illness and stay in your cube, listening to the cooing across the office.
Challenges with fertility make women insane. They become toxic, like being sprayed by a skunk: the stench dies down after a while, but you feel like your nose has been so permeated with the smell, you're not even sure it totally went away to begin with. You keep sniffing and sniffing because you're sure it's still there.
Four years isn't as long as some people have battled and hoped. But oddly I read all these stories of couples that are supportive and strong, and hopeful still about their chances of their miracle baby coming to fruition, and I get envious. I think "how is it that I fall apart every time my husband tells me he thinks the time is wrong, and none of these people ever talk about how goddamned hard it is to keep waiting, and trying, and failing?!" I must be the only one with a mouth the size of the Rio Grand, because this shit has sucked.
When things have gotten bad.... Like we were shouting threats of the big D at each other, there was always the sadness in me that realized whoever this little baby was going to be, that I wanted to have, was never going to happen. And for a long time recently, it's been something that I've felt more and more.
I can't decide if my husband has postponed and stalled us out so long that I've finally given up hope and let the dream go, or I've just moved on emotionally from the issue. The apathy I experience on the subject is terrifying, to be honest. I can't believe I don't feel that urge anymore! The pull! The want!
I like to think I'm a good mom. I work hard on being patient, and loving, and honest. I like being fun, and my son and I always play little fun games and have conversations about wonderful things. He rides his bicycle with me while I go on runs in the evening, and always cheers me on to push myself harder. Every time I hold him in my arms I feel that I've done at least 1 thing right in my life, and it fills me with a lot of pride and happiness.
And yet I realize that once he's on his own.... he won't have anyone else in this world as family. No sibling near his age to commiserate with once my husband get old, and weirder than we are now. No one to shed tears with when he'd got to face losing one -or both- of us. And certainly no one to blame when one of them breaks something, and I demand to know who was screwing around with it. Ah, what fun it is to have a sibling to harass and torture!
I digress...... Deny as I might want to, but my best and youngest years are behind me. I'm sure AARP already has me on their future mailing lists, and my advertising choices via social media will stop being promotions for 5ks, and start being coupons for hemorrhoid creams. My time is running out, and the conversation I have with my husband always ends with "just a little longer".
Having my child was a fast and furious crash into a new routine, and a lot of changes. I managed to land on my feet and somehow amble into a run sometime after that. He wasn't planned, and I was in far worse shape in my life than I am now.
So unreservedly, albeit quietly, I have chosen my donor. B1047. I have tracked my periods and cycles diligently, and assuming that I get a positive ovulation around mid-July, this will be my plan to move forward.
For a few years I've been patient and laissez fair, allowing myself to ease up when my husband wouldn't engage when I suggested looking at donors or discussing when to map out the due date. Unfortunately that patience has worn so thin that what's left of my trust in the fact that "we'll get there, just a little longer" seems not to exist anymore.
Marriage shows you a lot about your spouse. Most specifically you get to see who this person is, an all their purity. With my husband I know that while he never wanted to be a father in the first place, he half-assedly raised his daughter (as long as things remained convenient). With me, he understood that in order to get me in a relationship, I was a packaged deal and that was something he had to shoulder.
Vasectomies are not hasty; they're deliberate. They're an act of finality. He didn't want the 1st kid he had, let alone anymore. Ex's are a hassle and who needs that shit?
Whatever this rant or rave is, be it pre-menopausal breakdown, or a manifesto of my plans to say "well fuck this, I'm not giving this part of my dreams up" and throwing the gauntlet out the window.
Really the saddest part of this is that if I get pregnant, and he's not on board at all for it...... I don't really care anymore.
Monday, March 16, 2015
The Prosaic Tale
I spent the better part of a few hours putting together a fairly dull entry here and after some pretty heavy self-criticism decided that it was total shit, and erased it.
I'll get right to the capital issue at hand here: Apathy. This word right here, while I haven't realized it for many years, has dominated my life.
Some of my more impressive highlights are; going to college because I was told to and then dropping out because I wasn't in to it. Going back for college a second time just to keep my mother happy, and losing interest in my classes because they had no relevancy to anything interesting. Moving across country to NYC to "explore" the world; not having any real professional skills so I couldn't actually find any work that would pay me enough to make actual money and not be homeless.
Really, a long line of choices and actions that revolved around either not giving a single fuck, or just not having the confidence in myself to stick to a single fucking thing in my life. Not one. So far the only thing I've "stuck" with is motherhood, and it's not like you can really quit that; you just might suck at it sometimes more than others. And trust me; I fail frequently and often,
I'm sitting in an office where my boss neither has time, nor cares to see professional growth is supported and encouraged. I'm paid enough to tread above a level of starvation, but if I were solely responsible for our households bills, we'd be in foreclosure for sure. I'm in a constant panic about a lack of contribution on my part to our overall household. And of course, shortcut taker that I am, hasn't made any kind of real plan about how to fix that.
My first notion: get a part time job! The reality? I can't actually get away nights and weekends; that would destroy my child. He can't handle me being away, and for my part, I can't handle being away from him like that either. Say what you will about how I'm probably damaging him for life - yes, I'm sure he's warped beyond reason, but goddamnit, I love that kid so much, and he's only going to want to be with my constantly for a few more short years. I don't want to have to sacrifice those just to earn an extra $500 a month, and work an extra 20 hours to get it.
Go back to school! Ok, this idea scares me more than ANYTHING in this world. Guess where I work? Debt collector for a major university. No joke. I spend my time talking to grads that have spent 4-9 years in school that cannot find work and have anywhere from a few thousand dollars in student debt to more than $100k in student debt. The ultimate connundrum after the financial crisis question is what in the hell would I study? What the hell do I want to be when I grow up?
I'm still waiting for the answer to this question to magically come to me. I'm sure others are as well. I remember my sister told me her senior year of high school that she either wanted to be a nurse, or a teacher. Well, 20 years and a PhD later, she teaches. My best friend: delayed in college by surprise (!) child(ren) at 20 and 22, she ended up a nursing school drop out only to begin classes again this semester to try to get herself back into nursing school again sometime soon.
A good friend from high school who had a beatnick kind of coolness to him had a passion for Physics and a laid back personality: He was sticken from cancer in his early 20s, took a break for treatment and fucking persevered by graduating with his own PhD in Physics a few years ago.
These are the people I want to be when I grow up. The people that took the odds against them, and said "well fuck you, pal." My largest hurdle is me. I know that. I cannot make up my mind about what's worth it, and what's not. I keep going over the scenarios (and mostly my own fears) in my own mind. I toyed with going to school to weld and never pulled the trigger, and even to this day revisit the possibility that I could indeed actually go to welding school. But them I'm flooded with the negativity of but would you like it? Would you be any good at it? Who would hire you? How would you pay tuition? Would this REALLY be what you wanted to do?
It's too much. Yes, it's simpler to hide out and quietly watch as others pursue their dreams, because your own aren't really all that great. I feel bad. Worthless. Not really all that impressive. I don't really feel anything good about any of it. I can't discuss it with my parents; they're split in the middle as different as possible on how to handle those kinds of choices, and my husband hasn't changed careers in 16 years. He's already sure I am the worlds biggest flake ever to walk on it.
I don't know what to do, or what to choose, or what I should do with myself. It's not worth upheaving my life to fly off in to the sunset with no plan or objective, but doing what I'm doing isn't going to put me into any happier place than I have been for the last 15 years either.
I apologize that this doesn't have some polished conclusion, or an enlightened ending. Sometimes answers don't come immediately, if they come at all. Shit, aren't we still debating on who killed Kennedy? I'm not anticipating that this is an answer I'll get any time soon.
I can't bear the thought of being a 34 year old semi-first time freshman in school. I feel like a bad enough disgrace as it is, and hardly worth putting any time into anymore. Just doesn't seem to be any reason anymore.
I'll get right to the capital issue at hand here: Apathy. This word right here, while I haven't realized it for many years, has dominated my life.
Some of my more impressive highlights are; going to college because I was told to and then dropping out because I wasn't in to it. Going back for college a second time just to keep my mother happy, and losing interest in my classes because they had no relevancy to anything interesting. Moving across country to NYC to "explore" the world; not having any real professional skills so I couldn't actually find any work that would pay me enough to make actual money and not be homeless.
Really, a long line of choices and actions that revolved around either not giving a single fuck, or just not having the confidence in myself to stick to a single fucking thing in my life. Not one. So far the only thing I've "stuck" with is motherhood, and it's not like you can really quit that; you just might suck at it sometimes more than others. And trust me; I fail frequently and often,
I'm sitting in an office where my boss neither has time, nor cares to see professional growth is supported and encouraged. I'm paid enough to tread above a level of starvation, but if I were solely responsible for our households bills, we'd be in foreclosure for sure. I'm in a constant panic about a lack of contribution on my part to our overall household. And of course, shortcut taker that I am, hasn't made any kind of real plan about how to fix that.
My first notion: get a part time job! The reality? I can't actually get away nights and weekends; that would destroy my child. He can't handle me being away, and for my part, I can't handle being away from him like that either. Say what you will about how I'm probably damaging him for life - yes, I'm sure he's warped beyond reason, but goddamnit, I love that kid so much, and he's only going to want to be with my constantly for a few more short years. I don't want to have to sacrifice those just to earn an extra $500 a month, and work an extra 20 hours to get it.
Go back to school! Ok, this idea scares me more than ANYTHING in this world. Guess where I work? Debt collector for a major university. No joke. I spend my time talking to grads that have spent 4-9 years in school that cannot find work and have anywhere from a few thousand dollars in student debt to more than $100k in student debt. The ultimate connundrum after the financial crisis question is what in the hell would I study? What the hell do I want to be when I grow up?
I'm still waiting for the answer to this question to magically come to me. I'm sure others are as well. I remember my sister told me her senior year of high school that she either wanted to be a nurse, or a teacher. Well, 20 years and a PhD later, she teaches. My best friend: delayed in college by surprise (!) child(ren) at 20 and 22, she ended up a nursing school drop out only to begin classes again this semester to try to get herself back into nursing school again sometime soon.
A good friend from high school who had a beatnick kind of coolness to him had a passion for Physics and a laid back personality: He was sticken from cancer in his early 20s, took a break for treatment and fucking persevered by graduating with his own PhD in Physics a few years ago.
These are the people I want to be when I grow up. The people that took the odds against them, and said "well fuck you, pal." My largest hurdle is me. I know that. I cannot make up my mind about what's worth it, and what's not. I keep going over the scenarios (and mostly my own fears) in my own mind. I toyed with going to school to weld and never pulled the trigger, and even to this day revisit the possibility that I could indeed actually go to welding school. But them I'm flooded with the negativity of but would you like it? Would you be any good at it? Who would hire you? How would you pay tuition? Would this REALLY be what you wanted to do?
It's too much. Yes, it's simpler to hide out and quietly watch as others pursue their dreams, because your own aren't really all that great. I feel bad. Worthless. Not really all that impressive. I don't really feel anything good about any of it. I can't discuss it with my parents; they're split in the middle as different as possible on how to handle those kinds of choices, and my husband hasn't changed careers in 16 years. He's already sure I am the worlds biggest flake ever to walk on it.
I don't know what to do, or what to choose, or what I should do with myself. It's not worth upheaving my life to fly off in to the sunset with no plan or objective, but doing what I'm doing isn't going to put me into any happier place than I have been for the last 15 years either.
I apologize that this doesn't have some polished conclusion, or an enlightened ending. Sometimes answers don't come immediately, if they come at all. Shit, aren't we still debating on who killed Kennedy? I'm not anticipating that this is an answer I'll get any time soon.
I can't bear the thought of being a 34 year old semi-first time freshman in school. I feel like a bad enough disgrace as it is, and hardly worth putting any time into anymore. Just doesn't seem to be any reason anymore.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Ringing in 2015, aka, "This is terribly belated"
I don't know about anyone else, but "New Years Resolutions" makes me feel about as awesome as when you start seeing a new Doctor and you need to fill out the questionaire about your cholesterol, history of diabetes, and when you last gave yourself a self-breast exam.
Blech.
Making a list of things that you need to improve just because it's a new year doesn't seem to have any real weight that will carry you through those 12 long months. Hell, by the time September rolls around we seem to forget that we're waltzing straight into the holiday season, let alone the home stretch for the end of the year (and thus the deadline for these "goals").
I generally have a list that I've got running for myself that's a lot like my grocery list. Check the items off as you come across them, and try to get them all in a seamless fashion so as to save time, and avoid backtracking too far. These are things that need to get done, but if they're leftover for next trip, NO ONE IS GOING TO DIE.
I say that now, but one day something insane like "eating less fats because your cholesterol is over 300, you goddamn animal" is going to be on my list, and then shit is going to be real. I'll eat my words when that happens.
So in order of things likely to get done, here's what I hope to get hammered out in the near future:
Blech.
Making a list of things that you need to improve just because it's a new year doesn't seem to have any real weight that will carry you through those 12 long months. Hell, by the time September rolls around we seem to forget that we're waltzing straight into the holiday season, let alone the home stretch for the end of the year (and thus the deadline for these "goals").
I generally have a list that I've got running for myself that's a lot like my grocery list. Check the items off as you come across them, and try to get them all in a seamless fashion so as to save time, and avoid backtracking too far. These are things that need to get done, but if they're leftover for next trip, NO ONE IS GOING TO DIE.
I say that now, but one day something insane like "eating less fats because your cholesterol is over 300, you goddamn animal" is going to be on my list, and then shit is going to be real. I'll eat my words when that happens.
So in order of things likely to get done, here's what I hope to get hammered out in the near future:
- Get our minor reno projects out of the way so we can start planning the scary and lenthy ones
- Measure dimensions for new beds and start hunting for pallets for free on craiglist
- pick these bad boys up and store them. Pronto!
- Move the new dresser into Kiddos room, so you can get rid of his old one that threatens to tip over every time you open it. Seriously.
- UFYH in the 3rd bedroom. Also seriously.
- Fix the damn composter (and dump compost into it)
- Should the old dog run be converted into new composting rotation?
- Stop picking up projects that I can't get to.
- Also try to finish new shit that I HAVEN'T gotten to.
- This includes refinishing the rocking chair, and the 2 cast iron skillets I've acquired that NEED to be refinished. No.More.Projects.
- Try not to become an unintentional pack-rat
- De-clutter thyself. Immediately. Ahem; TODAY.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Envy is a slippery slope, filled with unenlightened commentary
The word "barren" seems really inappropriate when one of you is fertile, but the other not. It feels unbalanced. Perhaps referring to this situation as "unfairly lacking in sufficient sperm product", but this doesn't roll off the tongue in any way other than clumsily. Also, people don't care to hear the word "sperm". They way the look at you is like you'd exposed your private parts to them while smiling.
Ping ponging between feeling desperate to fill the empty wasteland of my weeping womb, and arguing with my spouse about whether or not another child is in our families dynamic is as well balanced at the tides that come in and out of the shores. I spend countless hours remembering what it was like to hold my now-5 year old kindergarten aged son in my arms as a caterwauling infant and chiding myself that I wasn't more appreciative of his newness, his baby smell, the privilege that I might never have again to feel him at my breast. All the mundane things I took for granted as I didn't worship and revere them as they happened.
The mind takes you places you don't realize it will when a desperation sets in. As my ovaries cast out a new ovum with every passing month, I feel a new surge or urgency in myself that comes with each of these passing moons, and in that brief and fleeting window I indulge in the darkest of fantasies on begetting a baby. I languish in these ideas, and I cringe at what the definition of them really and actually turns out to be. The weight of the hard fact bears down in my mind only after the curtain of ecstasy subsides.
I have spun myself many webs of possibility in search of this magnum opus, and learned that despite the passion to pursue them, the oceans of children already born into this world will have no love of a mother to call their own, and to sew the seeds within them that blossom into that unconditional bond. I cannot give a child the warmth and kindness, gentle touches and togetherness. It is a damning hatred that grows in you when you see how the politics of countries punish the innocent and blameless to lives grown with the starvation of love, and to be cared for by strangers.
Confined in a windowed prison of waiting, I am watching each week and month go by, passing beside me, as with each moment I am closer to failing at this endeavor. It is a malignancy that comes with a bitterness that I have no care for. The complacency and acceptance feels like I have resigned myself to yet another shortcoming in my life, the last in a very long list.
To use the phrase "between a rock and a hard place" would be like putting a band aid over a bullet wound.
Ping ponging between feeling desperate to fill the empty wasteland of my weeping womb, and arguing with my spouse about whether or not another child is in our families dynamic is as well balanced at the tides that come in and out of the shores. I spend countless hours remembering what it was like to hold my now-5 year old kindergarten aged son in my arms as a caterwauling infant and chiding myself that I wasn't more appreciative of his newness, his baby smell, the privilege that I might never have again to feel him at my breast. All the mundane things I took for granted as I didn't worship and revere them as they happened.
The mind takes you places you don't realize it will when a desperation sets in. As my ovaries cast out a new ovum with every passing month, I feel a new surge or urgency in myself that comes with each of these passing moons, and in that brief and fleeting window I indulge in the darkest of fantasies on begetting a baby. I languish in these ideas, and I cringe at what the definition of them really and actually turns out to be. The weight of the hard fact bears down in my mind only after the curtain of ecstasy subsides.
I have spun myself many webs of possibility in search of this magnum opus, and learned that despite the passion to pursue them, the oceans of children already born into this world will have no love of a mother to call their own, and to sew the seeds within them that blossom into that unconditional bond. I cannot give a child the warmth and kindness, gentle touches and togetherness. It is a damning hatred that grows in you when you see how the politics of countries punish the innocent and blameless to lives grown with the starvation of love, and to be cared for by strangers.
Confined in a windowed prison of waiting, I am watching each week and month go by, passing beside me, as with each moment I am closer to failing at this endeavor. It is a malignancy that comes with a bitterness that I have no care for. The complacency and acceptance feels like I have resigned myself to yet another shortcoming in my life, the last in a very long list.
To use the phrase "between a rock and a hard place" would be like putting a band aid over a bullet wound.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Everything good
Today I exchanged a cup of coffee for a cup of tea. On the end of the string of by bag, the tag reads "patience pays".
Amid the hurrying to get one place, or another, and planning one thing or another, this helped me so tremendously today.
I am grateful for subtle reminders. I feel very lucky to have everything that I do.
Amid the hurrying to get one place, or another, and planning one thing or another, this helped me so tremendously today.
I am grateful for subtle reminders. I feel very lucky to have everything that I do.
Monday, January 6, 2014
There is no way but forward
In the face of losing something we love and care about we find ourselves desperate to make amends and plead for more chances to make the wrongs right again, and smoothe over everything that's become broken.
We hold within ourselves an immense capacity to love and radiate warmth and joyousness. I feel that every time I think about where my life will go from here, and how beautiful it will be again.
Yet I digress that I am so very fearful right now, knowing that this joy and love is waiting for me again. The crossing into the unknown abyss to where I've never ventured scares me in a way I cannot explain. A great deal of hurt is going to come, for all of us, and I question how I will withstand it, and protect the ones I love in any way I can. Yet knowing that this certainty looms before me, I cannot bear to stay where I am. I am lost in uncertainty about whom I have chosen to spend my life, and I cannot answer the questions of whether or not I want to stay with him.
Sensing this, he's changed the game and announced that he wants a vasectomy reversal, so we can have a child together. No more donors and doctors and ovulation schedules. In the corners of my mind where there is the tiniest cleft of love remaining, the shreds I tucked away that will stay with me and haven't been mired in the years of unhappiness and neverending fights and harms, it feels the ache of joy I so badly wanted those few years ago. Every time he postponed and reasoned how we should wait another 6 months, another year, another few months again, just this little bit longer. Always pushing it farther away from me and never wanting to talk about what would happen, how we would get through it. Never making it a reality for me, only a desire just out of reach.
It's been so long since I've dared to hope that this would be a REAL decision, or a real conversation, I've had to quiet my heart and keep from bubbling up with tears and sobs. I've had to force myself to keep from feeling attachment to this, almost to the point where, when I think about a baby, I don't feel happy anymore. I feel a cavernous sadness inside me where the dark is waiting for me to venture to it, so it can take me and never let me go.
The sharp pain of longing no longer exists, I just have to accept that in this moment, in this life, this is what I will have, and the yearning must be quelled in order for me to survive. It pulled at me so hard and for so long, that it feels like I've lost something so important that I can barely take time to really mourn its loss.
My journey will continue, and I will have to mourn when I'm ready. Life must continue and I must find happiness within it. Life is suffering and yet there's no other way to overcome what's needed.
We hold within ourselves an immense capacity to love and radiate warmth and joyousness. I feel that every time I think about where my life will go from here, and how beautiful it will be again.
Yet I digress that I am so very fearful right now, knowing that this joy and love is waiting for me again. The crossing into the unknown abyss to where I've never ventured scares me in a way I cannot explain. A great deal of hurt is going to come, for all of us, and I question how I will withstand it, and protect the ones I love in any way I can. Yet knowing that this certainty looms before me, I cannot bear to stay where I am. I am lost in uncertainty about whom I have chosen to spend my life, and I cannot answer the questions of whether or not I want to stay with him.
Sensing this, he's changed the game and announced that he wants a vasectomy reversal, so we can have a child together. No more donors and doctors and ovulation schedules. In the corners of my mind where there is the tiniest cleft of love remaining, the shreds I tucked away that will stay with me and haven't been mired in the years of unhappiness and neverending fights and harms, it feels the ache of joy I so badly wanted those few years ago. Every time he postponed and reasoned how we should wait another 6 months, another year, another few months again, just this little bit longer. Always pushing it farther away from me and never wanting to talk about what would happen, how we would get through it. Never making it a reality for me, only a desire just out of reach.
It's been so long since I've dared to hope that this would be a REAL decision, or a real conversation, I've had to quiet my heart and keep from bubbling up with tears and sobs. I've had to force myself to keep from feeling attachment to this, almost to the point where, when I think about a baby, I don't feel happy anymore. I feel a cavernous sadness inside me where the dark is waiting for me to venture to it, so it can take me and never let me go.
The sharp pain of longing no longer exists, I just have to accept that in this moment, in this life, this is what I will have, and the yearning must be quelled in order for me to survive. It pulled at me so hard and for so long, that it feels like I've lost something so important that I can barely take time to really mourn its loss.
My journey will continue, and I will have to mourn when I'm ready. Life must continue and I must find happiness within it. Life is suffering and yet there's no other way to overcome what's needed.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
There are a lot of things I've got on my mind. It feels a lot like I'm lacking in expression though.
It's times like these that music often captured what I wanted to say more than my written or spoken word can, but in a sense, I feel so removed from that particular passion of mine.... It's a lot like being seperated from part of yourself and losing all sense of that it was you lost.
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