Jan 9, 2013

A Post in Which I Ramble on About Boobs, Being an Adult and Baby-Making and Come up With no Anwsers to my Own Questions

I wake up every single morning, and touch my boobs.

It's not as sexy as it sounds.

I figured out after my first pregnancy that for me, the very first sign of being impregnated is that my boobs hurt when I touch them. I don't even have to take a pregnancy test now, I just know the second I wake up if it's a yes or a no. This would be great if getting pregnant were easy, and staying pregnant were possible because on the flip side, I know that a pregnancy is over, if I wake up and my boobs don't hurt. My breasts have become gypsy fortune tellers that don't always tell me what I want to hear.

So it's become a daily routine, without even thinking, I just do it. I wake up every morning and disappoint myself, and look ridiculous at the same time. If I happen to be pregnant, I walk around all day, covertly squishing my boobs to make sure they still hurt.

I miss the days when the first thought out of my brain didn't have anything to do with getting knocked up. I miss the mornings when I didn't reach for my phone to check if I am fertile, ovulating or whatever that day. That app is bullshit anyways, hasn't helped us yet, I should just frigging delete it.

I miss the days when having a baby was the furthest thing from my mind, and all I cared about was working hard and playing hard and laughing a lot. I miss the days when sex had nothing to do with procreation.

I wish I didn't feel like such a failure. I wish I knew why my body is different than everybody else's, if only to have answers to your questions.

I wish I didn't want to be like everybody else. I never have before. Not once. So why does it matter so much now? Is it because I hate not getting my way? Am I too competitive? Have I made baby-making into a competition I am in with every other female I know? I think I have, and that's just ridiculous. Competing in a game you cannot win, is just plain silly, especially when the other players don't know you're playing. Or maybe they do?

Will it really matter in the long run, if my husband and I don't procreate? Probably not. Our life is good. Our future plans are fabulous. We'll be happy, because we're together, and I have no proof that a child would make us any happier. Maybe it would, maybe not. Maybe it would ruin everything. You just never know, I guess. Although, if we get that acreage, it would be nice to have some help around the yard. Unless the kid turns out like me, it won't be any help with yard work anyways.

I think it will have more of an effect on others. I get the feeling that some people just don't know how to act around us, being "that infertile couple". They aren't sure if they should treat us like adults. We aren't really treated like adults by some people, I guess, because we don't have spit up on our shirts, and we get to go out whenever we want and do whatever we want. But we work, and we vote and we have opinions on politics and religion and books and music and places you should travel. We don't have any stories about babies peeing on us, or temper tantrums or diaper rash or things like that. If you want, I can tell you stories about some of the disabled adults who have thrown poop at me, or pissed all over my car or had a "temper tantrum" in public...but it isn't as cute, although it does help me relate to stories of your children.

Ugh. So many issues and annoyances are intertwined with this whole thing that really have nothing to do with the actual act of making a baby. I wish I had known, maybe then I would be able to cope a bit better with them when they come up. Or maybe I would have just gotten my lady bits taken out so I could avoid all of this altogether.

 I'll figure out how to cope, I always do. Sometimes I just have to vent about it all though, I guess.

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