Wednesday, April 1, 2009

the birth of PIG

The weeks since our return from Mexico have been tumultuous - in my brain, anyway. The therapist would like for me to keep track of the dialogue in my head, and boy oh boy do I wish I never tuned in to that particular disaster. I'm really, really hard on myself, and I don't know how to turn off - or at least lower the volume of - the part of me that responds to our current frustrations and heartbreak with such gems as "You can't stay pregnant because you are a horrible horrible person. Why would a baby want you as a mom?"

sigh. I'd actually been quite proud of my state of mind - for probably two weeks, I felt hopeful for the future. I didn't break down into tears at the mere sight of a pregnant belly. I walked through the baby aisle at Target and imagined what it would be like to shop for my own precious bundle (I haven't been able to do that since we first started trying to procreate, at least not without the aforementioned tears.) And then, like the bitch that she is, reality came crushing down on me. PIG has been born. The pictures of her precious little face are a stark reminder of what I will, most likely, never have. Dreams - crushed. Hope - crushed. Functional me - crushed.

bigger sigh. The emotions that I've been experiencing have made something quite clear to me: eventually, Hubby and I need to decide to get off the hamster wheel of semi-fertility. At some point, we'll even need to figure out a viable form of birth control, since I can never go back on the pill due to my clotting issues. It's quite difficult for Hubby to wrap his head around that one, and I don't blame him: we can't seem to have kids, so why do we need birth control? Well, I cannot go on having pregnancy loss after pregnancy loss. I'd rather just not get pregnant at all if heartbreak is all I get in the end.

Speaking of heartbreak, I know that the decision to stop trying will mostly come down to me. Hubby is wonderful and supportive, and while he's sad about our babies that weren't, he also has this delusional idea that if we keep getting pregnant, eventually one will stick. I'm not so sure. At what point do I kill his dreams of having a biological child? After 6 losses? 8? or maybe 10? At what point do they lock me up in an insane asylum? I am so so sad for him. He is so kind-hearted, so gentle and yet so tough, and he would make a great daddy, but because he's stuck with me, chances are, he'll never get to experience watching the birth of his child. Sometimes, I truly wish we had never met. He'd be someone else's incredible Hubby, and he'd probably be a daddy by now. Happy. Oblivious to the shit hand that life has dealt me.

Can you tell I'm feeling down?

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