December 10, 2012 § 12 Comments
The idea of having another baby is really stressful. In so many ways, I think I want to, because once you were born it dawned on me how much I would love being a mother. I may not be naturally good at everything, or even most things. But I’m such a capable person and I never realized it, because of doubt and fear.
I was never a good athlete when I was younger and I was always picked last. I took Lifetime Sports when I was a sophomore and I hated group sports so much that I never went and I managed to get an F in a fucking gym class. But I took a weight training class with football players during my senior year, and I loved challenging my body and that high feeling I got. A few years later I had the self-discipline to regularly go to the gym, and go on hikes and runs, and enjoy it.
I’m not an outgoing, social person, and I hate customers and dealing with their problems. But I’ve always been good with customers. I get how I’m supposed to act, and I do it. I’ve spent years watching and learning from more socially inclined co-workers. I’ve been promoted in every job I’ve ever had. Now I’m a commissioned salesperson, and I’m good at it. Selling is not my strong point, but I’ve found my niche (men’s suits and dress clothes) where I can do it very comfortably. None of it came to me naturally. I’ve just worked hard and learned it.
Even my good taste and sense of style comes from reading fashion blogs and magazines, and studying people who know how to dress.
Hard work can compensate for talent. Hard work can even trump talent. I’ve known people who were a lot more talented than I am, and they didn’t always succeed because they weren’t good at the most basic things, like holding down a job.
All my life, ever since my doula mother scarred me with her home videos of birth, I saw pregnancy and giving birth as repulsive. It was never something I wanted to do, or thought I would do. But when I found out I was six months pregnant, I set my mind to doing it and doing it correctly. It was a desperate attempt to focus on the actual event of birth, and not think about the aftermath of being a mother with no baby. My denial was rather successful, as I never considered once what the “after” would be like. I wish someone had kicked me and told me to think about it.
Anyway, while I was busy denying the reality of a baby, I became very focused on the reality of pregnancy and that I would have to push a baby out. I educated myself on everything. I can’t even tell you how many books and web sites I read. I practiced breathing and relaxation, and I went on walks every day, trying to stay in decent shape. I massaged my stupid perineum. When I felt a living being pummeling me from inside, I began to understand why people thought pregnancy and birth was beautiful. I made a very detailed birth plan, had my baby naturally, and everything went perfect. I can’t say anything negative about the labor and delivery, at all. Of course it was painful, but I dealt with it as if I was running and I felt tired. Just get on with it.
The night I spent in the hospital after signing the TPR, I had the revelation that even though I knew nothing about babies or how to be a parent, I could have devoted myself to learning it, just like I set my sights on having a perfect birth. It makes me so angry still that I thought I wasn’t good enough. I thought parenting was this thing that should be carefully thought over and planned. You have to be married. You have to have lots of money and security. You have to be finished with school.
But not everything in life can be planned and controlled, in fact most of it is impossible to control, and it’s not a bad thing, it’s just how it happens. And it doesn’t mean that I’ll always be impoverished or single or I’ll never be able to give you everything you deserve. A lot of mothers have been younger and in worse situations than me, and they made it. If I had to move in with my parents temporarily or ask them for financial support, they wouldn’t have minded. They were not thrilled that I was pregnant, but once they met you, they loved you so much and would’ve done anything for us. If I had figured that out, I would still have you with me. I would be happy. I would be complete and whole.
I know I write the same things over and over here. It’s not meant to be entertaining.
Back to the original point I was trying to make.
In some ways, I want to be a mother now. I think I would enjoy it. I love cooking and cleaning and playing with games and crafts far below my age level and taking care of others. I can totally see myself as a thoroughly domesticated housewife mom. Let me tell you: I would be all about it.
With equal intensity, I can’t stand the thought. I can’t imagine how many painful memories it would bring up if I was ever pregnant again. I would miss you so much. I would be so depressed. The novelty of pregnancy for the first time is over and gone. I can’t have that back. During that time, I had zero support, emotional and otherwise, from the one person I wanted it from, and it was not an experience I’d want to repeat. So I can only imagine how dependent and clingy I would be. I’m half convinced that if I did have another kid, I should do the single mother thing intentionally. And by that I mean, find someone with attractive genes and fuck them while I’m ovulating. It would be so much less to deal with. No worries about my significant other cheating on me or leaving me, or if he’s going to be there for me and love me, because he already has left and he’s clearly not there. And really, how likely is it that anyone could love someone so broken? I don’t think anyone realizes just how broken I am. Even once they knew about the adoption, they wouldn’t understand and be prepared for how it changed me, and dealing with that in the context of a relationship is not something I anticipate.
And once this hypothetical child is actually there, I can’t imagine what kind of mother I’d be and what kind of issues I’d give them. I would be so overprotective. I would never stop worrying about something happening, because I’d shoot myself in the face if I lost two children. It also worries me that I don’t think I could love another, not as much as I love you. You are perfection and everything I could ever want. I know if I’d kept you, I would have been the best mother possible for you. I know you don’t mean as much to your parents as you mean to me. This is the only place I’ll ever say that. C and L would be happy with anyone’s baby. I don’t want another baby, I just want you. I wouldn’t be happy if I had a girl and had to play princesses and Barbies with her. I wouldn’t want to have a baby when my 20s are over, because I wouldn’t have the same energy and drive. Everything would have to be perfect, and I would go crazy if it wasn’t. I think I would love being a mom, but any other offspring would be a replacement. And they would probably know it.
All of this is ridiculous to even think about now. I keep telling myself to cross that bridge when it comes, if it even comes.
I sound like a fucking psycho nutjob.