This morning Mr. Bunny was reading the paper and ostensibly caring for our child. I passed by and pointed out that she had lifted up the rug and was merrily scavenging under it for things to eat. (I mean, not food--I'm talking bits of lint and tiny particles of mystery stuff that are invisible to any eye but a baby's ohmygod I swear we're clean.) He retorted that he was supervising, and that according to the Latin roots (super + video), to supervise is to overlook. AH HAHAHAHAHA. It was our mutual fondness for Latin that first brought us together, and a good Latin joke always reminds me why I love him.
And yet, mere hours later, I am refusing to speak to him.
It started yesterday. I'd found us some babysitters so we could spend time together. I hear it's good for a marriage. When you don't know anyone, it's actually rather hard to find babysitters, but I'd managed, and even had them over to play with Bun Bun to make sure they were not psychotic. And then we'd finally gotten around to actually booking one. And we were going out to dinner which I enjoy, and I'd been looking forward to it all week, but somehow the evening got entangled in this awkward thing where it wasn't clear whether we were going out to dinner or meeting a new friend of Mr. Bunny's, so no reservation for dinner was made. And despite the fact that we live in a city where it's never hard to find a table, every restaurant we like was booked, so we had to settle for a place I don't like, and I was PISSED. I got over it so as not to ruin the whole night, but not before I spent a lot of time yelling at Mr. Bunny in my head. (Things like, you don't care about our marriage at aaall! Waaaaaahhh!) And I guess there was Festering Resentment. And then today he snapped at me and I became furious, but because I had to make dinner, I transformed the fury into more Festering Resentment, and then during dinner, we had a fight we seem to have now and again about food. Briefly, he is less on board with the BLW method of feeding our child because he has concerns about her choking, even though she's never choked, and when I give her something more challenging to eat, and she gags, he gets really upset, and then so do I, and then we squabble in a very suppressed fashion. And the whole thing makes me feel like an incompetent parent, and it ruins dinner, which is often something it took me actual time to make and that I was looking forward to enjoying as a family.
Being angry at your spouse, particularly when he's a very good spouse, is so damn boring. But I feel like that's one of two modes for me these days. The other being, like I said last time, totally non-present.
A few months ago we had some mildly rough patches. Just grumpy and tense. And then things got better, and I'd started to feel like we were almost our old selves, and then...I got pregnant. And now I don't have any energy to put into our marriage. And particularly not when my efforts to make sure we stay solid go like they did last night.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Discombobulated
I keep looking for words to describe my mental state, but nothing seems to really capture the quality.
I feel strange. I feel Unable to Process. I go to work, I focus on work, but it's like being underwater. I find myself in a classroom with a lesson plan in front of me, I carry it out, but it's autopilot-tastic. I had a seriously overwhelming urge to ditch class yesterday.
I am happy to be with my child, but part of me is never there. It's not like I'm thinking of other things, either, I'm just...gone. I am happy when I think of my possible future child, but it's the same--there's a missing part of me, and I don't know where it is. My husband hardly exists. He's that creature who does an inadequate job when it comes to cleaning things.
Today I'm wondering if it's just the fact that this is the shittiest time of year, when nothing ever feels quite right. I used to mock people who couldn't handle winter, but now I live in a place that is not only cold, but endlessly grey, and I understand. It's like living in a Russian novel, and not something mildly cheery like Pushkin*, but something extra gloomy and hopeless, like Solzhenitsyn. And there's no vodka in my novel.
Or maybe I'm just Adjusting. Maybe the experience of infertility forced me to redefine myself, and now, hey, now that I'm a Fertile Whore, I get to redefine myself again. Maybe it's just going to take a while for all this shit to catch up with me, to sink in.
And yes, I DO feel like an asshole for writing anything but UNICORNS ARE FALLING FROM THE SKY considering how perfect and wonderful my life is, but this is what's going on, and I feel the need to express it so I can move on to other things, like WHY BUN BUN FEELS THE NEED TO MAKE A HIGH PITCHED WHINE THROUGHOUT DINNER THESE DAYS.
*Yes, fine, it would be a short story or poem or play in that case.
I feel strange. I feel Unable to Process. I go to work, I focus on work, but it's like being underwater. I find myself in a classroom with a lesson plan in front of me, I carry it out, but it's autopilot-tastic. I had a seriously overwhelming urge to ditch class yesterday.
I am happy to be with my child, but part of me is never there. It's not like I'm thinking of other things, either, I'm just...gone. I am happy when I think of my possible future child, but it's the same--there's a missing part of me, and I don't know where it is. My husband hardly exists. He's that creature who does an inadequate job when it comes to cleaning things.
Today I'm wondering if it's just the fact that this is the shittiest time of year, when nothing ever feels quite right. I used to mock people who couldn't handle winter, but now I live in a place that is not only cold, but endlessly grey, and I understand. It's like living in a Russian novel, and not something mildly cheery like Pushkin*, but something extra gloomy and hopeless, like Solzhenitsyn. And there's no vodka in my novel.
Or maybe I'm just Adjusting. Maybe the experience of infertility forced me to redefine myself, and now, hey, now that I'm a Fertile Whore, I get to redefine myself again. Maybe it's just going to take a while for all this shit to catch up with me, to sink in.
And yes, I DO feel like an asshole for writing anything but UNICORNS ARE FALLING FROM THE SKY considering how perfect and wonderful my life is, but this is what's going on, and I feel the need to express it so I can move on to other things, like WHY BUN BUN FEELS THE NEED TO MAKE A HIGH PITCHED WHINE THROUGHOUT DINNER THESE DAYS.
*Yes, fine, it would be a short story or poem or play in that case.
Friday, January 20, 2012
It's ALIVE
I had to beg for an ultrasound, but I got one, and there's a real live fetus in there. I say fetus because I'm nine weeks today. The fetus, who shall be known as Bunlet (Mr. Bunny chose it) has a heart (with beating), and what appears to be a head, too.
It was such a strange and different experience. Last time, it was my trusty RE who wanded me, and he was practically triumphant when he found that little blob. Mr. Bunny was by my side, and the joy of the moment was indescribable. This time, my OB seemed surprised that I wanted a scan. I explained that I'd had some spotting and that my symptoms had abruptly vanished right after, and she became concerned. And while I was concerned too, seeing her become concerned made me feel like crying. But at this practice, the ultrasound suite is a separate entity, so she had to see if they could squeeze me in. She said it probably wouldn't be the same day, so Mr. Bunny went home. And then they could squeeze me in, but I was being treated as something scary, and I was now alone, and I became more and more tearful, and I thought a lot about the many women I know who have had to sit in the room with the feelings of doom surrounding them and everyone being abrupt and emotionless because they fear they are about to deliver bad news... And then they probed me, and there it was, my precious fetus. Everything as it should be. And I felt like the angel of death had hovered over me and then decided to pass me by, even though in reality I was just being histrionic the whole time and Normal Women (whoever they are) don't even pay attention to things like spotting and absence of symptoms and don't expect all pregnancies to end in death.
So. That's that. And the only thing that feels like last time is that I have to rush off to a hideous three hour committee meeting and can't really even pause to digest this.
(But I do want to say, however awkwardly, that if you are really struggling with your family building right now and are hurting and beat down, and reading about this just makes you too sad, this would be a good time to leave and not come back until things are better for you, which I SO hope is soon, and not like you need my permission to leave or anything, but I sure understand and would never want to cause you pain, but I can't help it, this is just what's happened to me.)
It was such a strange and different experience. Last time, it was my trusty RE who wanded me, and he was practically triumphant when he found that little blob. Mr. Bunny was by my side, and the joy of the moment was indescribable. This time, my OB seemed surprised that I wanted a scan. I explained that I'd had some spotting and that my symptoms had abruptly vanished right after, and she became concerned. And while I was concerned too, seeing her become concerned made me feel like crying. But at this practice, the ultrasound suite is a separate entity, so she had to see if they could squeeze me in. She said it probably wouldn't be the same day, so Mr. Bunny went home. And then they could squeeze me in, but I was being treated as something scary, and I was now alone, and I became more and more tearful, and I thought a lot about the many women I know who have had to sit in the room with the feelings of doom surrounding them and everyone being abrupt and emotionless because they fear they are about to deliver bad news... And then they probed me, and there it was, my precious fetus. Everything as it should be. And I felt like the angel of death had hovered over me and then decided to pass me by, even though in reality I was just being histrionic the whole time and Normal Women (whoever they are) don't even pay attention to things like spotting and absence of symptoms and don't expect all pregnancies to end in death.
So. That's that. And the only thing that feels like last time is that I have to rush off to a hideous three hour committee meeting and can't really even pause to digest this.
(But I do want to say, however awkwardly, that if you are really struggling with your family building right now and are hurting and beat down, and reading about this just makes you too sad, this would be a good time to leave and not come back until things are better for you, which I SO hope is soon, and not like you need my permission to leave or anything, but I sure understand and would never want to cause you pain, but I can't help it, this is just what's happened to me.)
Monday, January 16, 2012
Busy head
School starts tomorrow, and I'm feeling my usual pre-semester jitters. Both my classes are far smaller than usual, which is a good thing, but makes me feel unpopular and weirdly out of things. Plus, one class is made up primarily of students who...how to put it...have not impressed me in other courses. Some of them are clearly floundering with this whole college thing, like the girl who has decided that because she's gotten too many Ds and Fs, med school is out of her reach. So she's going to apply to PhD programs. I know I should put aside any preconceptions about these people, but because I'm human, walking into a class filled with students I'd rather never see again...it's hard to generate a lot of fire in the old teaching belly.
Meanwhile, there's my baby. Monday will be my day at home with her this semester, and I should be savoring the fuck out of today. She's in a magical delicious moment of just starting to crawl and just starting to push up to a sitting position and just starting to reach up for things, and it chokes me up because it's so cool. I'll plop her on her belly and turn around to find her sitting there, or on her knees pulling something off a shelf... I like to pretend she's telling me, Hey Mama, I got this. I'm ready for a new phase... The nanny transition week was fine. I feel a little numb about the whole thing, still, and I really don't like having my baby smell like someone else (fabric softener or perfume or whatever), but I think my biggest source of anxiety was how well Bun Bun did. Do I even matter to her? I sure hope so. So anyway, being with her today and knowing I won't be tomorrow...hard, weird, hard, distracting.
Then there's my uterus and its mysterious contents. I don't mind waiting a few more days to find out what's in there, my fear is that I won't actually know on Friday. I have no sense of what goes on at a normal first OB appointment. Will they give me an ultrasound? SURELY they will give me an ultrasound. Surely they won't just take some blood and weigh me. Surely? I miss the days of the medical community treating me like a miracle. I still feel like a miracle.
Anyway, that's what's going on in my pretty little head today. I leave you with this totally gratuitous photo of Bun Bun, in her first excursion in her Bun Bunting.
Meanwhile, there's my baby. Monday will be my day at home with her this semester, and I should be savoring the fuck out of today. She's in a magical delicious moment of just starting to crawl and just starting to push up to a sitting position and just starting to reach up for things, and it chokes me up because it's so cool. I'll plop her on her belly and turn around to find her sitting there, or on her knees pulling something off a shelf... I like to pretend she's telling me, Hey Mama, I got this. I'm ready for a new phase... The nanny transition week was fine. I feel a little numb about the whole thing, still, and I really don't like having my baby smell like someone else (fabric softener or perfume or whatever), but I think my biggest source of anxiety was how well Bun Bun did. Do I even matter to her? I sure hope so. So anyway, being with her today and knowing I won't be tomorrow...hard, weird, hard, distracting.
Then there's my uterus and its mysterious contents. I don't mind waiting a few more days to find out what's in there, my fear is that I won't actually know on Friday. I have no sense of what goes on at a normal first OB appointment. Will they give me an ultrasound? SURELY they will give me an ultrasound. Surely they won't just take some blood and weigh me. Surely? I miss the days of the medical community treating me like a miracle. I still feel like a miracle.
Anyway, that's what's going on in my pretty little head today. I leave you with this totally gratuitous photo of Bun Bun, in her first excursion in her Bun Bunting.
 |
| She'd like you to know that she's wearing nothing but a diaper under this bunting. |
Monday, January 9, 2012
No *interesting* updates, but a lot of updates.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for not spitting on me. As many of you said, it's silly to feel so dreadful about something so wonderful, but I think you also understand that it's impossible not to. So many of the people I've come to care about are going through particularly awful things right now...I feel like I've been suddenly transformed into your annoying fertile friend who's always popping out babies while you suffer. I guess I'll just do my best to not be an asshole (which I'm super good at, right?), but please, if you can't bear to read this space anymore, don't feel one bit conflicted about going away forever. Or at least until things are better for you, which I dearly hope will be very, very soon.
And thank you also for offering reassurance. I have nothing new to report on the uterine front. I've had a couple more spotting episodes, and some stabbing back pain that made me certain I'd wake up in a pool of blood, but I haven't. So far. My appointment is on the 20th. I considered asking that it be moved up, but I decided I simply don't want to know. That may seem bizarre, but I'm about to go through a major transition life-wise, and I don't think I could handle bad news.
I'm going back to work next week. In fact, today is my last real day with Bun Bun, as the rest of this week will be Nanny Transition Week.
Yes, we've decided to go the nanny route, which is impossible for me to wrap my head around. I vividly recall how scornful I was of the professor in grad school who had a nanny when her kids were young. Nanny = someone else raising your kids, right? Obviously. I wish she were just a babysitter, but sadly, she's got actual nanny credentials, so I pretty much have to refer to her as a nanny. She's a sweet, calm, quiet young thing and I think she'll be just right for Bun Bun. It might have helped seal the deal when she revealed that she's got a pet rabbit. Not that I approve of rabbits being kept as pets--we deserve to be FREE, but still, it means she should be good at taking care of my baby bunny.
So, I have faith in Bun Bun's new caregiver, and I am so grateful to have the luxury of bringing someone in*, but I still go all blank in the head when I think about leaving her. I am trusting that it will get easier quickly, which is what many of you have promised.
It doesn't help that I am NOT excited to go back to work, and that I can't quite fathom actually pulling it off. It's been a loooong time since I had to actually work. Ill be teaching two classes, which I haven't done for over a year, and I supposedly also have this research program? Or something? None of it feels real, and I'm just foggy and numb. And scared, and sad, and...FREAKED OUT pretty much covers it.
So anyway, that's why I don't want to add an ultrasound to the mix. Sure, it might be reassuring news, but if not, where exactly do I fit in a D&C?
*Not because taking her somewhere would be bad, no, I don't think that at all, just because it makes a lot of sense for us.
And thank you also for offering reassurance. I have nothing new to report on the uterine front. I've had a couple more spotting episodes, and some stabbing back pain that made me certain I'd wake up in a pool of blood, but I haven't. So far. My appointment is on the 20th. I considered asking that it be moved up, but I decided I simply don't want to know. That may seem bizarre, but I'm about to go through a major transition life-wise, and I don't think I could handle bad news.
I'm going back to work next week. In fact, today is my last real day with Bun Bun, as the rest of this week will be Nanny Transition Week.
Yes, we've decided to go the nanny route, which is impossible for me to wrap my head around. I vividly recall how scornful I was of the professor in grad school who had a nanny when her kids were young. Nanny = someone else raising your kids, right? Obviously. I wish she were just a babysitter, but sadly, she's got actual nanny credentials, so I pretty much have to refer to her as a nanny. She's a sweet, calm, quiet young thing and I think she'll be just right for Bun Bun. It might have helped seal the deal when she revealed that she's got a pet rabbit. Not that I approve of rabbits being kept as pets--we deserve to be FREE, but still, it means she should be good at taking care of my baby bunny.
So, I have faith in Bun Bun's new caregiver, and I am so grateful to have the luxury of bringing someone in*, but I still go all blank in the head when I think about leaving her. I am trusting that it will get easier quickly, which is what many of you have promised.
It doesn't help that I am NOT excited to go back to work, and that I can't quite fathom actually pulling it off. It's been a loooong time since I had to actually work. Ill be teaching two classes, which I haven't done for over a year, and I supposedly also have this research program? Or something? None of it feels real, and I'm just foggy and numb. And scared, and sad, and...FREAKED OUT pretty much covers it.
So anyway, that's why I don't want to add an ultrasound to the mix. Sure, it might be reassuring news, but if not, where exactly do I fit in a D&C?
*Not because taking her somewhere would be bad, no, I don't think that at all, just because it makes a lot of sense for us.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Shock, happiness, fear...sorrow?
On December 17th, I discovered that I had accidentally gotten knocked up. Yeah, like some fifteen-year-old or some crack whore. I had no idea how to write about such an unfair and ridiculous event, so I wrote nothing at all.
The experience has been one of very complex emotions, with an awful lot of guilt. Because I didn't plan it. Because there wasn't the same hope and anticipation leading up to the discovery, because the little embryo wasn't cherished with all the love in the world from day one. And perhaps because of that hefty dose of guilt, all along, I've been thinking I deserved to miscarry. I'm sure at least one Anonymous is thinking the same thing.
But I've also been so happy, as the reality began to sink in, bit by bit.
I am about seven weeks today. Yesterday I started spotting. Today the nausea that's been constant for the past week is gone, abruptly and completely. I think about undercooked eggs served in a dirty ashtray with a side of cold bacon grease...nothing. Instead of feeling exhausted as I have for the past week, I feel practically sprightly.
I've been thinking about the fact that when I called my OB's office to make an appointment, the scheduler didn't even congratulate me. It's like she knew this was just an absurd little interval. Like she knew I didn't deserve this little life.
The experience has been one of very complex emotions, with an awful lot of guilt. Because I didn't plan it. Because there wasn't the same hope and anticipation leading up to the discovery, because the little embryo wasn't cherished with all the love in the world from day one. And perhaps because of that hefty dose of guilt, all along, I've been thinking I deserved to miscarry. I'm sure at least one Anonymous is thinking the same thing.
But I've also been so happy, as the reality began to sink in, bit by bit.
I am about seven weeks today. Yesterday I started spotting. Today the nausea that's been constant for the past week is gone, abruptly and completely. I think about undercooked eggs served in a dirty ashtray with a side of cold bacon grease...nothing. Instead of feeling exhausted as I have for the past week, I feel practically sprightly.
I've been thinking about the fact that when I called my OB's office to make an appointment, the scheduler didn't even congratulate me. It's like she knew this was just an absurd little interval. Like she knew I didn't deserve this little life.
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