Monday, July 07, 2008

le grande sigh

The Judging The Gestational Age deal is all weird when dealing with an IVF pregnancy. I mean, do I count the date from the embryo transfer or from the date from when that first cell split into two? Or is it from other date pulled from the unit's virtual ass?

Logic tells me I count from when the embryo first became a single, dividing unit when before it had been two separate entities from two separate humans (and with that sentence, the miracle of life suddenly because even MORE real), but my reproductive unit is so disagreeable that they'll probably tell me it's something else entirely, just to fuck with me.


Taking MY logic into account, we're about to tip into the six week mark - and this despite the fact that it's only been FOUR since the actual day (because suddenly your vagina becomes a freakin' WORMHOLE) of conception. I feel about as pregnant as I did when six weeks pregnant with Daniel. Which is to say, NOT AT ALL.

I'm as tired as all fuck though, which if I wasn't such a denying fool, IS feeling pregnant (note to self: you idiot). I fall asleep on the sofa and don't wake up 'til dawn. I drag my ass around willing the elephants tied to my ankles to fuck off already, and I can barely carry Daniel anymore, which leads to feelings of weepitude and sorrow because he's my baby, and now some OTHER kid is going to be my baby.

I'm kind of titchy and short tempered too, which was okay back in the day because the only fool receiving my wrath was my dickhead ex. I was also working like a machine so literally working out a WHOLE lot of angst while at the same time feeling there was Meaning! and Purpose! to my life. Not like this raising a child thing, which obviously in my fucked up head, has little meaning and no purpose.

Most of the time I'm okay, if by "okay" I mean "can rationalise my way through the bullshit", then something stupid happens and some switch flips me from Relatively Normal to Raving Lunatic.

Stellar moments include yelling at Daniel to "pick that SHIT up!!" when trying to clean up some of the constant mess created in households such as mine (ie plus one small child and minus one purposely employed nanny) , holding him tight and demanding he "stop WRIGGLING, FORGODSAKE" when tying small shoes onto small feet, and growling "SIT DOWN!" when Daniel told me he "wan' to get owwt" of the stroller.

and it's so much worse than that and I don't even know if it's in my head or if I really AM emotionally fucking my kid RIGHT over.

Then I feel so fucking sorry that I can barely breathe so I suffocate him with hugs and kisses and want to cry again because HE'S my baby. And here I go again. Right now. Live feed. Woot.

Which is ANOTHER flashing neon sign that I'm pregnant, but one that's not as acceptable as puking on my shoes.

and if I WAS puking on my shoes, you KNOW I'd be all "Bad prawn."



Oh, and quite apart fro the emotional Roller Coaster Of Weep, I periodically get SO fucking depressed, all "what the fuck have I DONE?", "my life has NO value because where is my CAREER?!", and my favorite, mostly because it's like, a minimum of NINE WHOLE MONTHS AWAY, "if I feel like THIS much like shit NOW, I'm DEFINITELY going to get PPD and then ALL our lives will be in the toilet. And medication, I'm going to HAVE to take it, and bla bla bla and BLA". That last concern is a doozy, and is even MORE convoluted that you even KNOW.

What pisses me off most though, because the catalyst for all this catastrophic thinking WASN'T finding out I'm pregnant, it was some bust up The Lawyer and I had. I feel like shit over a MAN, y'all. Which is ALL KINDS of fucked up.

Then I rationalise that and remember that, oh yeah, when I'm on overload, I focus on RIDICULOUS shit to be blow my diodes on.

All that being said though, I read yesterday that depression can be a pregnancy related symptom, so I kind of feel better about being so sporadically morose. I also rapidly shifted from "what have I done wrong??" (aside :NOTHING) to "dude is a FOOL". Expect a rapid shift back any time now, but for now, we're coasting and are only worried about losing my marbles an entire year from now.

I don't remember feeling so emotionally taxed when pregnant with Daniel, but I to have been considering all the drama with my dickhead ex who had just disappeared after I left him before he BEGGED me to let him come back which, what?

Point being, my last pregnancy wasn't a time of peace and calm and feeling nurtured and safe either, which is another reason why I feel depressed and woeful now. It not being fair and all *rolls eyes*

In summary?

When I say I don't feel pregnant, DON'T BELIEVE ME.

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