My pregnancy is halfway over. I’m in my 20th week, and in my 5th month. Or 19 weeks 0 days and something like 4 and a half months to be more exact.
I think I must have forgotten how emotionally wretched a good pregnancy can be. Or perhaps my pregnancy with the hellion was just easier.
Physically, I’m good. I’ve gained 7 pounds, give or take five depending on my state of dress and when the last time I ate was. I have occasional heartburn that can be easily taken care of with Tums. I get the rare headache that I am now allowed to take Tylenol for. I’m not too tired. I’m never nauseous unless I’m in the passenger seat of the car. And the baby kicks every day, mostly in the mornings or at night. For all this, I am very grateful.
While pregnant with the hellion, I never yelled at anyone and I remember crying twice, and both times were completely justified. Once when I realized that I was going to have to raise her on my own and once when I walked in on her father having sex with some random girl right after we got back together.
Some time after the birth of the hellion, I was diagnosed with both depression and anxiety. I vaguely remember crying a lot and the occasionally outburst, but both of which were soon stopped with the aid of antidepressants. I’m not sure if that has any bearing on what’s going on with me now though.
I’ve been off all psychiatric medications since the second miscarriage. I had been doing really well on the meds and the doctor saw no reason I needed to take them any longer. Especially since they weren’t approved for use by pregnant women. That was about 16 or 17 months ago.
Since I became pregnant this time around, my depression has been pretty well controlled. I have good days and bad days, and I assume that’s normal. Every day is not a bad day, and that’s better that it’s ever been before without the drugs. My anxiety was something different. It was, well, worse than it has ever been in my life. I suppose that was to be expected between being off the meds and constantly worrying about yet another miscarriage. It spread into every aspect of my life. I couldn’t be in a car without envisioning the fiery crash that would be my demise. I could barely leave the house and soon, I couldn’t deal with others leaving it either. If the husband didn’t call by a certain time in the morning, I would assume he had died on his way to work.
And then the baby started kicking. My anxiety all but disappeared. The baby was fine. So therefore I was too. And so was everyone else I know.
Until now, or at least in the past week or so. I’ve decided I’m insane. Either that or everyone else sucks and I need to find new people to associate with.
The husband wants to go out and drink at his friend’s house. I say that I don’t think it’s a good idea. He leaves anyway. I cry. He doesn’t come home until 8 am because he and his friend got into some sort of beer related trouble. I can’t handle it and just avoid the whole topic for a few days. And then I feel it’s a good time to ask questions. I can’t get a straight story and start yelling.
And then this dude dies. He was more than an acquaintance, less than a friend. I dunno, the husband called him a drinking buddy and I suppose that’s as good a description as any other. He went out drinking and sometime that night, his heart just stopped beating. He was a year older than I am. He was the fourth person in my life to die this year. Two of my friend’s moms and one of my elderly uncles died before him. All death sucks, but when it’s someone your own age, who died doing what I’d be doing on a random Saturday if I wasn’t pregnant, it’s just scarier.
This past Friday, the husband wants to go to the bar with his friends. I’m appalled. It’s not like his last night drinking went very well. I say no. Just no. I can’t have any part of it. It’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard. I yell and yell and yell until I cry and cry and cry. He finally gives in and stays home. He’s not thrilled.
We go out to dinner last night with his friends. For hours before we are supposed to leave, I alternate between yelling and crying. I don’t want to go. Why would I? He’s got big plans of ditching me after dinner to go to the bar and drink with his friends. Why do I have to play happy dutiful wife in front of his friends when I am desperately trying not to scream at him? After way more yelling and crying that I thought was physically possible, he agrees to just go to dinner and then come home with me.
After dinner his friends start whining. Why can’t he come with us? I say we’re going home. They continue whining and whining until I just can’t take it anymore. We are leaving and that’s it. We leave and he’s bitching the whole way to the car about how mean I am. Tough. I said no. That should have been enough. Had they shut their mouths, I would have shut mine.
Then as we pull up in front of the house I get the fun question of, how much am I going to bitch if he goes out with his friends anyway. Are you fucking kidding me? Did we not just go through this?
Once inside and semi-calm, I try to explain why this is such a big deal. His friends don’t go to sports bars or anything else normal. They go to singles bars. I think my married husband does not belong in a singles bar with out me. And without a wedding ring (his is dented and doesn’t fit.) I get the – I don’t cheat on you. Yeah, I know that. Seriously, not my fear. But do I really need to be home alone, bored and pregnant while you get drunk in some bar? Is that at all fair to me? It’s not like he came home last weekend. He got “detained” or whatever by the police and I got to spend a fun filled stressful (always good for the baby) night at home thinking he was dead. And hell, he could have been dead. Or hurt. Or in jail. Or zillions of other kinds of badness. And do I really need to be a single mom to 2 kids? I get a grumpy – nothing was going to happen. Yeah, cause nothing bad ever happens.
He still thinks he’s going out drinking for his birthday next weekend. He’s mistaken. He doesn’t seem to understand that I would rather be divorced and alone raising my two children that married to someone who would rather drink and risk dying or going to jail that just stay home with me. I don’t know why the concept is so confusing. I explained it very well. He’s just not going to mention it until next weekend and we’ll fight again. Yeah. Something to look forward to.
So, while not mentioning his desire to leave me a young widow, we try to play nice and go out to brunch. We then go over to his mom’s house. She and some of the kids just returned from Florida and I get some little girl baby clothes. It would have been wonderful except she had to, at least twice, mention exactly how much she doesn’t want a girl. Well, fuck me. Whatever will I do? I just ignore her as I wonder whether or not she realizes that she is in fact a woman and everything she is saying seems quite offensive to the entire gender. In strolls one of the husband’s brothers and his girlfriend. The one he knocked up right after her last abortion. (She got pregnant because she didn’t want a curfew anymore. Don’t ask. No one gets the logic). The girlfriend announces she sure her baby is a boy (she’s like 12 weeks – she has no idea). The mother in law gets all excited and says something to the effect of getting the grandson she wants. I snap something about how wonderful for her. I’m quite ready to leave. I get up to go get the hellion so we can leave. I’m so pissed, I’m near tears and I refuse to sit there crying like a little bitch. As we leave, the husband yet again tells me that I’m mean and that I’d be pissed if he ever talked to my mom like that. Well, I’m sorry, but my mom wouldn’t say anything that offensive. At least not sober. He’s going on and on about how it was a joke and I need to get over it. I’m sorry but no, I don’t. She’s been saying this shit since I got pregnant with the twins. She told the hellion that she should want a baby brother because if she got a sister she wouldn’t be the princess anymore. Yeah, thanks. Lets help the child who’s been an only for six years adjust to a baby by telling her she won’t be special anymore. That’s helpful. So, yeah, maybe I lost it, but the “jokes” are completely inappropriate. I get accused of ruining the day on the ride home.
So maybe it’s just me. Maybe husbands are supposed to get drunk and not come home until mid morning. Maybe his friends are supposed to whine at me until I want to hit every one of them. Maybe husbands go to singles bars to hang out. And maybe the grandmother to be is supposed to bitch that the baby is coming without a penis and is therefore inferior. Like I said, it’s been a long time since I had a successful pregnancy. Maybe this is how adults are supposed to act. Maybe this makes it easier on the pregnant woman in someway and is therefore healthy and therapeutic for the baby. It doesn’t sound right, but I’ll have to ask my doctor to be sure.
My pregnancy is halfway over. I’m in my 20th week, and in my 5th month. Or 19 weeks 0 days and something like 4 and a half months to be more exact.
I think I must have forgotten how emotionally wretched a good pregnancy can be. Or perhaps my pregnancy with the hellion was just easier.
Physically, I’m good. I’ve gained 7 pounds, give or take five depending on my state of dress and when the last time I ate was. I have occasional heartburn that can be easily taken care of with Tums. I get the rare headache that I am now allowed to take Tylenol for. I’m not too tired. I’m never nauseous unless I’m in the passenger seat of the car. And the baby kicks every day, mostly in the mornings or at night. For all this, I am very grateful.
While pregnant with the hellion, I never yelled at anyone and I remember crying twice, and both times were completely justified. Once when I realized that I was going to have to raise her on my own and once when I walked in on her father having sex with some random girl right after we got back together.
Some time after the birth of the hellion, I was diagnosed with both depression and anxiety. I vaguely remember crying a lot and the occasionally outburst, but both of which were soon stopped with the aid of antidepressants. I’m not sure if that has any bearing on what’s going on with me now though.
I’ve been off all psychiatric medications since the second miscarriage. I had been doing really well on the meds and the doctor saw no reason I needed to take them any longer. Especially since they weren’t approved for use by pregnant women. That was about 16 or 17 months ago.
Since I became pregnant this time around, my depression has been pretty well controlled. I have good days and bad days, and I assume that’s normal. Every day is not a bad day, and that’s better that it’s ever been before without the drugs. My anxiety was something different. It was, well, worse than it has ever been in my life. I suppose that was to be expected between being off the meds and constantly worrying about yet another miscarriage. It spread into every aspect of my life. I couldn’t be in a car without envisioning the fiery crash that would be my demise. I could barely leave the house and soon, I couldn’t deal with others leaving it either. If the husband didn’t call by a certain time in the morning, I would assume he had died on his way to work.
And then the baby started kicking. My anxiety all but disappeared. The baby was fine. So therefore I was too. And so was everyone else I know.
Until now, or at least in the past week or so. I’ve decided I’m insane. Either that or everyone else sucks and I need to find new people to associate with.
The husband wants to go out and drink at his friend’s house. I say that I don’t think it’s a good idea. He leaves anyway. I cry. He doesn’t come home until 8 am because he and his friend got into some sort of beer related trouble. I can’t handle it and just avoid the whole topic for a few days. And then I feel it’s a good time to ask questions. I can’t get a straight story and start yelling.
And then this dude dies. He was more than an acquaintance, less than a friend. I dunno, the husband called him a drinking buddy and I suppose that’s as good a description as any other. He went out drinking and sometime that night, his heart just stopped beating. He was a year older than I am. He was the fourth person in my life to die this year. Two of my friend’s moms and one of my elderly uncles died before him. All death sucks, but when it’s someone your own age, who died doing what I’d be doing on a random Saturday if I wasn’t pregnant, it’s just scarier.
This past Friday, the husband wants to go to the bar with his friends. I’m appalled. It’s not like his last night drinking went very well. I say no. Just no. I can’t have any part of it. It’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard. I yell and yell and yell until I cry and cry and cry. He finally gives in and stays home. He’s not thrilled.
We go out to dinner last night with his friends. For hours before we are supposed to leave, I alternate between yelling and crying. I don’t want to go. Why would I? He’s got big plans of ditching me after dinner to go to the bar and drink with his friends. Why do I have to play happy dutiful wife in front of his friends when I am desperately trying not to scream at him? After way more yelling and crying that I thought was physically possible, he agrees to just go to dinner and then come home with me.
After dinner his friends start whining. Why can’t he come with us? I say we’re going home. They continue whining and whining until I just can’t take it anymore. We are leaving and that’s it. We leave and he’s bitching the whole way to the car about how mean I am. Tough. I said no. That should have been enough. Had they shut their mouths, I would have shut mine.
Then as we pull up in front of the house I get the fun question of, how much am I going to bitch if he goes out with his friends anyway. Are you fucking kidding me? Did we not just go through this?
Once inside and semi-calm, I try to explain why this is such a big deal. His friends don’t go to sports bars or anything else normal. They go to singles bars. I think my married husband does not belong in a singles bar with out me. And without a wedding ring (his is dented and doesn’t fit.) I get the – I don’t cheat on you. Yeah, I know that. Seriously, not my fear. But do I really need to be home alone, bored and pregnant while you get drunk in some bar? Is that at all fair to me? It’s not like he came home last weekend. He got “detained” or whatever by the police and I got to spend a fun filled stressful (always good for the baby) night at home thinking he was dead. And hell, he could have been dead. Or hurt. Or in jail. Or zillions of other kinds of badness. And do I really need to be a single mom to 2 kids? I get a grumpy – nothing was going to happen. Yeah, cause nothing bad ever happens.
He still thinks he’s going out drinking for his birthday next weekend. He’s mistaken. He doesn’t seem to understand that I would rather be divorced and alone raising my two children that married to someone who would rather drink and risk dying or going to jail that just stay home with me. I don’t know why the concept is so confusing. I explained it very well. He’s just not going to mention it until next weekend and we’ll fight again. Yeah. Something to look forward to.
So, while not mentioning his desire to leave me a young widow, we try to play nice and go out to brunch. We then go over to his mom’s house. She and some of the kids just returned from Florida and I get some little girl baby clothes. It would have been wonderful except she had to, at least twice, mention exactly how much she doesn’t want a girl. Well, fuck me. Whatever will I do? I just ignore her as I wonder whether or not she realizes that she is in fact a woman and everything she is saying seems quite offensive to the entire gender. In strolls one of the husband’s brothers and his girlfriend. The one he knocked up right after her last abortion. (She got pregnant because she didn’t want a curfew anymore. Don’t ask. No one gets the logic). The girlfriend announces she sure her baby is a boy (she’s like 12 weeks – she has no idea). The mother in law gets all excited and says something to the effect of getting the grandson she wants. I snap something about how wonderful for her. I’m quite ready to leave. I get up to go get the hellion so we can leave. I’m so pissed, I’m near tears and I refuse to sit there crying like a little bitch. As we leave, the husband yet again tells me that I’m mean and that I’d be pissed if he ever talked to my mom like that. Well, I’m sorry, but my mom wouldn’t say anything that offensive. At least not sober. He’s going on and on about how it was a joke and I need to get over it. I’m sorry but no, I don’t. She’s been saying this shit since I got pregnant with the twins. She told the hellion that she should want a baby brother because if she got a sister she wouldn’t be the princess anymore. Yeah, thanks. Lets help the child who’s been an only for six years adjust to a baby by telling her she won’t be special anymore. That’s helpful. So, yeah, maybe I lost it, but the “jokes” are completely inappropriate. I get accused of ruining the day on the ride home.
So maybe it’s just me. Maybe husbands are supposed to get drunk and not come home until mid morning. Maybe his friends are supposed to whine at me until I want to hit every one of them. Maybe husbands go to singles bars to hang out. And maybe the grandmother to be is supposed to bitch that the baby is coming without a penis and is therefore inferior. Like I said, it’s been a long time since I had a successful pregnancy. Maybe this is how adults are supposed to act. Maybe this makes it easier on the pregnant woman in someway and is therefore healthy and therapeutic for the baby. It doesn’t sound right, but I’ll have to ask my doctor to be sure.