My life as a whining zombie
Someday, I’m going to be the one that says, Evaaaan, how come you never knee me in the groin anymore? Why? Why? Cuddle! Cuddle!
And he’ll roll his eyes and say Ma, you really need to get a grip. I’m taking the car. Seeya.
After almost two weeks of blocked sinuses, wracking coughs, blazing headaches and nonstop Pixar, we’re starting to emerge from the grip of the Norwalk virus. And/or Whooping Cough. Bubonic Norwhoop. Thanks to the constant hum of the New & Improved Mother (the big black box) we’re going to hell. And Lightning McQueen will take us there.
You look like a mime, said Justin last night. And yes, it’s true. My gorgeousness these days is positively blinding. Nose smeared with Evan’s Zincofax (pasty-white butt salve, for the uninitiated), hair in a near-dreadlocked state, eyes red and bleary. And it all pales in comparison to the neverending stream of curses and complaints.
I am pinched and bitchy. Everything sucks.
Evan crawls all over me, tugs at me. I snap at him and shake him off, resenting him for needing me when all I want is to be alone. I feel so selfish. I want my body back, free of strains and twitches and hormones. I want my time back, my job, my clicky shoes, my autonomy. I want to have that glistening, polished feeling. I don’t want to buy unsweetened cheerios anymore because unsweetened cheerios suck. I want salt on my eggs, and I don’t want to share them with anyone.
I’m bummed because Justin found some random, ancient Japanese formula that predicts the gender of your baby based on the month of conception and your age, and it says boys.
It was right for Evan, he says. I knew it, it’s all boys. And something in me says Yep, you know it too. You're full of jiggers. Errr.. in the gestational sense. Yeah, yeah. All that’s important is that they’re healthy. But what about striped tights and pigtails? I’m supposed to have some, dammit.
We’re already over-quota. On the twins' birthday, I'm having my legs medically fused together. And for the rest of my life our house will be one big sausage party, all hockey games and fishing trips. I’ll be all alone in my femaleness, pining for idiotic things like prom dresses and lip gloss and tampons.
I want a Sadie. A Molly. A Riley. A Juniper. I lust for them, for their quirky leggings under flouncy skirts and long hair and teensy flared jeans and peasant tops. Shallow and irrational, yes. But my brain can’t accept that I might be deprived. I’m supposed to be the mother of a daughter. It’s not fair.
Guilt that I shake off my son, delicious and scruffy and sweet. He’s going to be all gone soon, replaced by someone who’s too cool and too grown-up to need his mother. These are precious days, I know. But I can’t seem to drum up the selflessness and energy and attention he needs. Not when I look and feel like Jabba the Hutt.
Guilt that I’m not myself. That I’m so ineffective, so lacking in patience, answering his whines with whines. Guilt that I have the nerve to complain about the prospect of a houseful of boys when there are people out there struggling to conceive, struggling with hospitalized kids and loss and grief. Guilt that Justin has to live with a piss-eyed, unshowered zombie. Guilt that we have family closeby who do everything they can to help when plenty of young families are marooned.
I guess I’m just tapped. Aside from Croupgate 2006, this is the worst episode of plague we’ve suffered since Evan’s birth. You all know, right? How debilitating is it to be sick and to have to look after anyone other than yourself. How much worse it gets when you don’t sleep. And how much more self-pity you indulge on your blog, soon to be renamed www.poorkate.com, when you’re pregnant times two.
sweetsalty kate
8 Comments
Reader Comments (8)
I was the same, I only wanted girls, and I somehow got them. But with my second, for half the pregnancy, I was convinced it was a boy, and then around 6 months, I suddenly went, NOPE! So there's hope yet.
And now, I want a boy if we're ever in a position to adopt. Don't know why, but I want a boy really bad now.
And the tights aren't that cool. They grow out of them far too quickly.
I really wanted a girl. I had dreams where I could see her and she was adorable. Everyone told me I was having a boy and I thought, aha, she'll show them. Well, I had a boy and my love for him is so fierce I can't imagine that girl anymore. That said, we'll be having another so I don't know exactly what you are going through, but I can imagine. I think I'd feel the same way.
Have you read this: http://prolly.blogs.com/prollyallthetime/2006/09/index.html ? Scroll down to the last post on the page "Baznzo Revealed"--she knows what you're going through.
We experienced a similar mourning process when we found out we'd never have a little boy. No wee baseball caps, no teeny tiny hockey gear, no mommy's little boy, daddy's little buddy. ALL the sweet boy names we'd dreamed up would be for naught. We didn't completely accept it until the girls were born, even after seeing their girly parts on 10,000 ultrasounds.But once they were born, I knew that those little people HAD to be mine- anything else would have been ridiculous.
This too shall pass. Being double pregnant and sick is no small potatoes.
xo
Just because you know you're lucky doesn't mean you can't still bitch about the stuff that gets you down. Hunker down, this too shall pass.
But then it did get easier, or I just got use to hell, either way, it matters. Evan starts to become the first one, the big brother, the one whole stole your heart and to be honest, the one sleeps through the night, the one who can run and get a diaper. And there is nothing like that raw love one has for the first baby, honestly, love just the same, it's just so different, to have never felt that love and then that first one comes in and rocks you whole world. And in the end, love spreads, it grows, it gives us just what we need.
That Croupalicious cough is also spreading across the southwest US as well. We are all hacking together. United. In Phlegm.
peacem
It's not that I wanted just girls, nor do I need them to be froofy. For that matter, girls play hockey and go fishing. But when you're irrational, you fixate on typical gender-based milestones and assumptions. I've just always pictured one of each.. balance. Like a lot of people, I think.
M, thanks so much for sending me the link to that blog - I have to capture a snippet of what she wrote here because it is so incredibly, exactly how I feel:
"I will never have a relationship with my sons that is what a mother and daughter share as the daughter embarks on experiences and a life path that is parallel. I will never have the chance to raise a strong woman, to look at her and see the things that I worried about and hoped for, to tell her that this too shall pass. To one day marvel at all that she has accomplished and all that she has become. No marathon calls and mother-daughter bonding. No frustration at her insistence on making the same mistakes from which I have already made and learned. No first loves and broken hearts. I will never go wedding dress shopping, or cry with her knowing how hard it is to be a mom..."
The whole post is at http://prolly.blogs.com/prollyallthetime/2006/09/banzo_unveiled.html
And you're all getting at what I already know, cerebrally - that once they're here, I won't be able to imagine anything other than what I've been given. I know that will be true.
By the way, we're feeling better, bowing twice-daily to the all-powerful god of antibiotics. All hail!