Friday, June 4, 2010

Deciding enough was enough

Okay, so synopsis from last post (so you don't have to read the entirely too long thing): I knew from the time I was little I wouldn't give birth, but would breastfeed, forgot that as I got older, but regained it later (I'll actually explain that in a minute, so be a little patient). And, most importantly, don't ask people when they're going to jump on the babymaking train, it's insensitive and just rude. Yup, that about covers it.

I'm gonna try to be not so verbose today, but no promises. After trying to get pregnant for several years (4 or 5, I think), taking medication for a couple of months, and spending lots of money to figure out what was going on (and of course getting no answers), I sat sobbing on my couch, not making any sense to my husband as he asked me what was wrong this time. I knew at that moment that I couldn't do it anymore. No more could I think about pregnancy every moment of every day, wondering if that little twitch meant anything, or if my boobs being sore was an early sign of pregnancy, or of my period about to start.

The emotional roller coaster was intense, made even worse by the fact that my loving husband seemed clueless about how difficult this was for me. To be fair, I wasn't sharing all this with him at the time. I thought I was sparing him, and I suppose I was, but that doesn't mean it was the best thing to do. As we talked about our experience several years later, I remember explaining to him how all-consuming the thought of pregnancy was, how it was something I couldn't get away from, always there in my mind. I was angry that he only really had to think about it once or twice a month, while it was with me every moment of every day. I saw the light bulb turn on as he nodded his head and said, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea it was like that. It's so much easier for guys". If only I could have heard that in the midst of the hormone craziness, it would have made it easier to shoulder.

So today's takehome lesson is that "protecting" someone by not telling them how I'm feeling is often not the best route. My husband is a big boy and capable of handling a lot, and actually he's capable of deciding what he can handle. That's not my job. Shew, one less thing to have to be in charge of. Despite popular opinion, I actually don't want to be in charge of everything; it's a relief to let some things go!

Til next time... Oh wait! I still haven't told you about my moment of remembering, have I? Well, sorry. I promised brevity (and this is the closest I get to that), so you'll have to wait til next time.

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