I know there are probably people out there who read this blog that hate me about now because they so badly want what I have. I understand that, and deep in my heart, I wish I could change everything about me and how I handle anything related to my childbearing. But the fact is, I can’t change it. Believe me, I’ve tried. A lot. And whether you believe me or not, I truly am grateful that this baby is healthy and doing well. As for the rest of it…
I know I’m never going to be able to explain myself so that someone who is in a rational state of mind really understands where I’m coming from and why I’m upset, but I’ll try. I feel a need to defend myself from all the unspoken and thinly veiled accusations directed toward me, both in real life and on the interwebs. I’m hoping those who have gone through an unplanned/unwanted pregnancy might get it a little better than others. There are a lot of feelings involved with that situation that aren’t there when you plan and want a pregnancy.
I spent last night communing with my good friend google trying to validate myself and the absurd feelings and reactions I’ve had about this pregnancy. As usual, google pulled through for me. I found a whole bunch of stuff from other women who had reactions similar to mine. A common theme I found was that these women felt like they were mourning the loss of a daughter they had never and will never actually have.
I have never, never wanted more than two children. After having W, I determined that I was only having one. When I found out I was pregnant again, it took me a long, long time to accept the idea that I was, in fact, having another child – like it or not (and I did/do not). I don’t think I truly got to the point where I fully accepted that, but I was getting close. I had started hoping, somewhere in a small back room of my mind, that this baby would give me the “perfect” family I dreamed of when I was younger: me and a husband, one boy and one girl. I never really felt like I was having a girl (or a boy, for that matter), but I was hoping.
I’ve said before that hope is dangerous, and I still firmly believe it. If you don’t hope, your dreams can’t be crushed. I need to remember and follow that advice more often. Life would probably be much less painful for me that way. At least I know boys don’t come out girls. When they tell you it’s a boy at that ultrasound, you can expect a penis at the birth (unlike with girls, who do occasionally come out as boys). This little fact effectively crushed any tiny glimmers of hope I had left. So all hope in this matter is gone, and I can get on to just dealing with it.
A lot of the nameless, faceless women on the internet who told their stories of being disappointed about having another boy talked about a sense of loss. While I don’t exactly feel a sense of loss about a daughter who never existed, I do feel a sense of disappointment that my “dream family” will never be realized. We are NOT having any more children. Period. I will do whatever it takes to make sure we don’t. We can’t afford it, we don’t have room for it, and I’m not sure I could mentally survive it. This means, however, that I will never have a daughter. I’ll never get to buy cute dresses, put hair in pigtails, play Barbie, shop for prom dresses, plan a wedding, hold a hand through pregnancy. I’m always going to be the mother-in-law. That makes me really sad.
The silver lining is that I’ll never have to deal with periods, boyfriends (well, maybe), giving the sex talk (that one’s all B), cattiness, slutty clothes for little girls, junior high and high school girl drama, or the pink aisle in toy stores. I realize this somewhere in the back of my mind, but it doesn’t bring much comfort right now.
Another issue is that the only experience I have with my offspring is with a boy. I know all kids are different, but my previous experience tells me that a male child borne to me and B will be a colicky, fussy, un-sleeping, bad-at-nursing, crazy-active, crazy-in-general, loud, wild, attached-to-my-hip, mostly-un-cuddly-and-un-lovey, generally-as-frustrating-as-he-is-fun, major-mama’s-boy, mini-B. I know I could very well have ended up with a girl who is exactly like W, or have a boy who is nothing like him. But that’s not what I have experience with. I’ve experienced a boy, and I know that having two 18-month-apart little Ws running around will be the death of me.
I. Can. Not. Handle. That.
(Telling me I can doesn’t help, but thanks).
Rationally, I know this is no big deal, I’ll be fine, I’ll love the kid, blah, blah, blah. But it’s hard to hear the rational voice over the crazy (reason #472 I’m concerned that my mental health is deteriorating a bit). Have I ever mentioned that I hate being pregnant and all the awful things it does to my mind and body? (reason number, um, 2 or so that we’re never having any more children. Well, I suppose B can, if he wants, but they won’t be with me).
I’m finding it especially difficult to assimilate my dreams into the apparent reality of my situation. The death of a dream is sometimes a hard thing to handle, especially if it’s a major or long-held dream. I guess I can’t explain or justify things any better than that.
I think that’s enough rambling for one day. You may still think I’m a selfish, soulless, heartless wench, but, if nothing else, at least you got a peek into the workings of a crazy mind.