And life continues. Or doesn’t, depending on who you are, I suppose.
Two weeks ago, my uncle died. He was 76 and in perfect health. He came over for Easter dinner and he was fine. A week later he died in his sleep.
I spent the following week going to the wake and funeral wondering if all this death is somehow my fault. It sounds neurotic and completely self-centered, but I can’t help thinking it. For two years I had miscarriage after miscarriage and everyone around me lived. I get pregnant with a viable child and all of a sudden I have 5 deaths in four months. It’s feels as though I traded the lives of everyone around me for my unborn child’s life. I understand that isn’t possible. I understand that I do not in fact have that kind of power. It’s still creepy and depressing nonetheless.
The husband was very good about his birthday. But then again, maybe he just got bored. He wanted to go to the bar with his friend. I just couldn’t argue. I was too emotionally drained due to the massive amount of death that surrounds me. I just said fine and lied in bed depressed. I’ve been lucky enough that everyone who has died recently, has died while we were on good terms. I refuse to be trapped with guilt what the husband does something stupid and gets himself killed. Sure, I’ll be crushed, but do I need the guilt of screaming that I want a divorce as he walks out of the house to be the last thing I say to him? That’s really not fair to me. I mean, first I’m a widow and then I’m a horrible bitch who was probably the cause of his death. At least that’s how things work in my twisted mind.
He ended up going to these people who just had a baby’s house. He held their son and then came home with a plan. The worst plan ever. He wants to start trying again in October. First of all, I’m still pregnant. Second of all, I’d like at least 12 minutes after I deliver to recover, have a beer and perhaps even fit in the bridesmaid’s gown I have to wear next year. Third of all, there is no guarantee I will ever be able to have a good pregnancy again, no guarantee that the next baby will be a boy and damn it, what the hell is wrong with my poor, penisless baby girl?
I had my 20-week prenatal appointment last week. The doctor said the ultrasound didn’t show a four chambered heart, and although it is probably an error, that I need to have another ultrasound. After getting slightly loud with the ultrasound people, I receive an appointment for the next day. I get the same ultrasound tech that becomes irrationally angry about having to redo my ultrasound. She claimed her pictures were very clear and the heart was just fine. She was right, but I can’t see how it was my fault the doctor wrote the findings wrong. Of course, it was completely my fault that I asked her to check the gender again to make sure we were definitely having a girl. 100% girl. No penis. See, no penis. No, no I don’t see. I get the pleasure of staring at the ceiling until you are finished and then you send me home with no pictures to show for my time. I completely don’t see.
Since we are now fully insured, I set up an appointment to get glasses next week. I love my contacts, but I can’t see a damn thing anymore. Now I will get the privilege of seeing out of both eyes clearly at the same time, with the added bonus of looking like crap.
I also scheduled a chiropractic appointment that I went to today. After an hour and forty-five minutes of paperwork, poking, heat packs and cracking my neck, they’ll tell me what’s wrong on Wednesday. My back still hurts, my neck hurts more than usual, but hell, at least I got out of the house.
The husband is currently at the bar. It’s a school night. An actual school night, as he’s an apprentice and has to take actual classes. He claims not to be drinking. He’s only out watching the hockey game that is only shown on a station that he claims we do not receive. I don’t even care anymore. I spend this alone time updating my baby shower registry since the mother-in-law is in full baby shower throwing mode recently. I realize that the computer is acting wonky. Wonky like a whole mess of crap has been deleted or erased or whatever. I get curious and want to know what’s missing. I’m usually pretty good at finding deleted crap, but alas it was just not working tonight. About to give up, I check the husband’s email account. I do this on occasion when I feel as though something fishy is going on. I tell myself it’s for reassurance, but that’s not exactly true. If I find something, I am not reassured. If I don’t, I just figure he must have deleted it because my feelings could never possibly be wrong.
P.S. I’ve had the flu or some other god-awful thing this past weekend so the husband has been sleeping on the couch, downstairs, right next to the computer.
Saved in the drafts of his email is a receipt dated yesterday afternoon for a three-day trial membership to some porn site. Moron. Just to clear up – I have no problem with porn. I sold sex toys for a living. I used to subscribe to the Netflix of porn. I’m a firm believer in porn. But, I have a no tolerance policy for hiding things. It makes me wonder what else you are hiding. Others, i.e. the husband, believe that actively hiding things and casually forgetting to mention them are two different things, so I call him up and accuse him of the porn watching. I get a straight out denial.
Now, I’m pissed. I inquire as to who else could have access to his email and would save the receipt with the password to the site with his drafts folder. He doesn’t know. One further, he claims he hasn’t checked his email since our Internet went down on Easter. So the alleged email hacking porn watcher was nice enough to clean out his inbox for him. How polite. I state that I just want to know where he’s watching this porn. He’s now confused. I state that I want to know whether it’s the reason he so easily volunteered to sleep downstairs or if he’s watching it in my daughters room while she sleeps. Now, I know he isn’t doing that. Her computer is like Fort Knox. You need a password to read the news. I’m trying to fluster him so he accidentally tells me he’s watching it downstairs. It was the perfect plan. I don’t know how it failed. He launches into a diatribe about how I’m never going to believe anything he says and that if he wanted to watch porn, he’d just go out and buy some. Now, I’m confused and tell him that I don’t believe him because he is lying. He tells me he loves me and hangs up.
Now I’m just annoyed. I know he’s lying. I don’t know how to prove it. I won’t really gain anything even if I could prove it. I wish he would go buy some porn. At least that wouldn’t make me insane.
And life continues. Or doesn’t, depending on who you are, I suppose.
Two weeks ago, my uncle died. He was 76 and in perfect health. He came over for Easter dinner and he was fine. A week later he died in his sleep.
I spent the following week going to the wake and funeral wondering if all this death is somehow my fault. It sounds neurotic and completely self-centered, but I can’t help thinking it. For two years I had miscarriage after miscarriage and everyone around me lived. I get pregnant with a viable child and all of a sudden I have 5 deaths in four months. It’s feels as though I traded the lives of everyone around me for my unborn child’s life. I understand that isn’t possible. I understand that I do not in fact have that kind of power. It’s still creepy and depressing nonetheless.
The husband was very good about his birthday. But then again, maybe he just got bored. He wanted to go to the bar with his friend. I just couldn’t argue. I was too emotionally drained due to the massive amount of death that surrounds me. I just said fine and lied in bed depressed. I’ve been lucky enough that everyone who has died recently, has died while we were on good terms. I refuse to be trapped with guilt what the husband does something stupid and gets himself killed. Sure, I’ll be crushed, but do I need the guilt of screaming that I want a divorce as he walks out of the house to be the last thing I say to him? That’s really not fair to me. I mean, first I’m a widow and then I’m a horrible bitch who was probably the cause of his death. At least that’s how things work in my twisted mind.
He ended up going to these people who just had a baby’s house. He held their son and then came home with a plan. The worst plan ever. He wants to start trying again in October. First of all, I’m still pregnant. Second of all, I’d like at least 12 minutes after I deliver to recover, have a beer and perhaps even fit in the bridesmaid’s gown I have to wear next year. Third of all, there is no guarantee I will ever be able to have a good pregnancy again, no guarantee that the next baby will be a boy and damn it, what the hell is wrong with my poor, penisless baby girl?
I had my 20-week prenatal appointment last week. The doctor said the ultrasound didn’t show a four chambered heart, and although it is probably an error, that I need to have another ultrasound. After getting slightly loud with the ultrasound people, I receive an appointment for the next day. I get the same ultrasound tech that becomes irrationally angry about having to redo my ultrasound. She claimed her pictures were very clear and the heart was just fine. She was right, but I can’t see how it was my fault the doctor wrote the findings wrong. Of course, it was completely my fault that I asked her to check the gender again to make sure we were definitely having a girl. 100% girl. No penis. See, no penis. No, no I don’t see. I get the pleasure of staring at the ceiling until you are finished and then you send me home with no pictures to show for my time. I completely don’t see.
Since we are now fully insured, I set up an appointment to get glasses next week. I love my contacts, but I can’t see a damn thing anymore. Now I will get the privilege of seeing out of both eyes clearly at the same time, with the added bonus of looking like crap.
I also scheduled a chiropractic appointment that I went to today. After an hour and forty-five minutes of paperwork, poking, heat packs and cracking my neck, they’ll tell me what’s wrong on Wednesday. My back still hurts, my neck hurts more than usual, but hell, at least I got out of the house.
The husband is currently at the bar. It’s a school night. An actual school night, as he’s an apprentice and has to take actual classes. He claims not to be drinking. He’s only out watching the hockey game that is only shown on a station that he claims we do not receive. I don’t even care anymore. I spend this alone time updating my baby shower registry since the mother-in-law is in full baby shower throwing mode recently. I realize that the computer is acting wonky. Wonky like a whole mess of crap has been deleted or erased or whatever. I get curious and want to know what’s missing. I’m usually pretty good at finding deleted crap, but alas it was just not working tonight. About to give up, I check the husband’s email account. I do this on occasion when I feel as though something fishy is going on. I tell myself it’s for reassurance, but that’s not exactly true. If I find something, I am not reassured. If I don’t, I just figure he must have deleted it because my feelings could never possibly be wrong.
P.S. I’ve had the flu or some other god-awful thing this past weekend so the husband has been sleeping on the couch, downstairs, right next to the computer.
Saved in the drafts of his email is a receipt dated yesterday afternoon for a three-day trial membership to some porn site. Moron. Just to clear up – I have no problem with porn. I sold sex toys for a living. I used to subscribe to the Netflix of porn. I’m a firm believer in porn. But, I have a no tolerance policy for hiding things. It makes me wonder what else you are hiding. Others, i.e. the husband, believe that actively hiding things and casually forgetting to mention them are two different things, so I call him up and accuse him of the porn watching. I get a straight out denial.
Now, I’m pissed. I inquire as to who else could have access to his email and would save the receipt with the password to the site with his drafts folder. He doesn’t know. One further, he claims he hasn’t checked his email since our Internet went down on Easter. So the alleged email hacking porn watcher was nice enough to clean out his inbox for him. How polite. I state that I just want to know where he’s watching this porn. He’s now confused. I state that I want to know whether it’s the reason he so easily volunteered to sleep downstairs or if he’s watching it in my daughters room while she sleeps. Now, I know he isn’t doing that. Her computer is like Fort Knox. You need a password to read the news. I’m trying to fluster him so he accidentally tells me he’s watching it downstairs. It was the perfect plan. I don’t know how it failed. He launches into a diatribe about how I’m never going to believe anything he says and that if he wanted to watch porn, he’d just go out and buy some. Now, I’m confused and tell him that I don’t believe him because he is lying. He tells me he loves me and hangs up.
Now I’m just annoyed. I know he’s lying. I don’t know how to prove it. I won’t really gain anything even if I could prove it. I wish he would go buy some porn. At least that wouldn’t make me insane.