Ungratitude
Yesterday was a bad day - the worst day yet of the pregnancy, with my first short bout of HG. So I was particularly vulnerable to a certain form of ungratefulness.
I was the same with my son. "Congratulations!" people would say, and I would smile weakly and grit my teeth, wondering what the hell I was supposed to feel celebratory about. Which must sound crazy. Babies are wonderful things, these were wanted and planned pregnancies, and this time more than ever - with a miscarriage not long behind me - surely I should be pleased, not to say delighted?
I was dreading the scan on Tuesday. I thought as soon as I had positive news I'd be overcome with tears of happiness, would feel a flood of relief. There was a moment of doubt - it turns out you don't hear the heartbeat after all - and then I saw it beating and I felt... nothing in particular. Brief relief, then flatness. And as with last time, the photo didn't move me particularly.
There's some deep-seated thing in my brain which refuses to translate pregnancy into baby. It's not a conscious thing - logically I can acknowledge that something could go wrong up to and past the birth, so it makes sense not to count any chickens, but I don't think much about all that. I just can't imagine what's inside me as a baby. My mind won't go there. And so all I'm left with is what I have, which is horrible illness and general debilitation, and when people say "Congratulations!" I just think, "What? Why?"
I know, I know. I wanted this pregnancy. I wanted it a lot. And I knew I'd probably get ill. That's why there's such a big gap between my children (six years). I've spent the last three or more years steeling myself and clearing the decks of my life in preparation for this onslaught. My wish to be a mother again was stronger than my fear. But that burning desire sort of... goes underground, once I'm pregnant. It's still there. If it wasn't, there'd be an easy way to escape the illness - but even at my worst moments, I won't contemplate that.
I want this, of course I do. I just don't like it very much.
___
I was the same with my son. "Congratulations!" people would say, and I would smile weakly and grit my teeth, wondering what the hell I was supposed to feel celebratory about. Which must sound crazy. Babies are wonderful things, these were wanted and planned pregnancies, and this time more than ever - with a miscarriage not long behind me - surely I should be pleased, not to say delighted?
I was dreading the scan on Tuesday. I thought as soon as I had positive news I'd be overcome with tears of happiness, would feel a flood of relief. There was a moment of doubt - it turns out you don't hear the heartbeat after all - and then I saw it beating and I felt... nothing in particular. Brief relief, then flatness. And as with last time, the photo didn't move me particularly.
There's some deep-seated thing in my brain which refuses to translate pregnancy into baby. It's not a conscious thing - logically I can acknowledge that something could go wrong up to and past the birth, so it makes sense not to count any chickens, but I don't think much about all that. I just can't imagine what's inside me as a baby. My mind won't go there. And so all I'm left with is what I have, which is horrible illness and general debilitation, and when people say "Congratulations!" I just think, "What? Why?"
I know, I know. I wanted this pregnancy. I wanted it a lot. And I knew I'd probably get ill. That's why there's such a big gap between my children (six years). I've spent the last three or more years steeling myself and clearing the decks of my life in preparation for this onslaught. My wish to be a mother again was stronger than my fear. But that burning desire sort of... goes underground, once I'm pregnant. It's still there. If it wasn't, there'd be an easy way to escape the illness - but even at my worst moments, I won't contemplate that.
I want this, of course I do. I just don't like it very much.
___
Labels: Babies
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