Monday, April 16, 2012

Thinking it through + Post Edit.

I should be sleeping right now. Tired. So very tired. And still pregnant.

I am in no state to be speaking, let alone blogging. I've learned over time that opening my mouth during peak moments of blind, self-pitying vulnerability only leads to legitimate doses of embarrassingly 20/20 hindsight. I said whaaaaat?
For example, when asked yesterday {by a naive and well-intended passerby} how are you feeling these last few weeks? and responding with

An ironic mixture of apathy and rage choked by hopeful exasperation drowning in anxious despair...

I just knew I was gonna regret that.

The combination of impatience mixed with control freak mixed with dramatics mixed with hormonal imbalance mixed with 40 weeks gestation mixed with anxiety creates a cocktail of crazy so potent it becomes necessary I lock myself indoors to protect those outside. But with the advent of the computer, no one is safe anymore. I'm sorry, you've been warned.

Last night I cried to Tyler,

I am in a race. A long, tedious marathon. And maybe it's a good marathon...yes, one I'm glad to be in. But I'm almost to the finish line and the real problem is...I have no idea where exactly the finish line is. Three feet away? Twenty? Two miles? I'm running running running ...i am so sick of running!!!!! I just need somebody to PUHlease tell me where the finish line is!

I paused and waited for this earth shatteringlyBRILLIANT analogy to sink in as Tyler gave the usual sympathetic smile and briefly bowed his head in a look of Dear-All-that-is-Holy, save me and get my baby out of this psychotic shell of a woman i love  and began rubbing the acupressure point on the ball of my foot more furiously.

I wish I could explain how someone who chooses to have four children in 6 years could be so. bad. at. pregnancy. In a world plagued by infertility, my difficulty with this blessing will be my lifelong guilt. And let me be clear that it has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the actual baby. It may be dramatic but it certainly is truthful when I say I consciously, forcefully, choose to be happy each day of my pregnancies. Contentment is elusive during these months. Whatever mental/emotional/biological forces conspire within my being during this time seem bent on making me second guess everything I ever thought I knew, and I fall into deep wells of reflection and seeking and angst. But, during these journeys also come moments of intense clarity, when I am positive my perspective has been shifted for the better. I can feel it on occasion: a leap in understanding or growth in the stronger aspects of my character. I am tougher than I think. I am also hideously wimpier than I think.

I've always remembered an informative passage in a book about the functioning of a woman's body. It spoke of the innate wisdom of transitions we go through. The most brutal, often irritating phases of PMS, pregnancy, and menopause serve amazing purposes beyond what might be easily observed by the physiological eye.  During any of these times, we might suddenly find ourselves pummeled with feelings of sadness and extreme sensitivity. We may withdraw and become quieter, more thoughtful, and ready to examine... really examine...our lives. We make changes and call attention to things that have bothered us, things that we may have stuffed or set aside or ignored. These may even be minor things, or in some cases major things. But with the magnifying glass of whatever transition we're in, this massive lens through which we are now perceiving our reality, we can no longer ignore it. And so finally, we clean it out. We rid ourselves of it. We cry or we freak out or we storm through or we fall apart until finally, we stand up. Better and refreshed and more....ourselves.

Some may call it crazy-woman-problems, the icky tricky business of being female, or the gross  of being a girl. I say it's a gosh darn efficient system that keeps us from, oh i dunno... starting wars and using violence and blowing things know, all the gender stereotypical stuff that seems to be the icky tricky business of being a male.

Applying that knowledge to my pregnancies has been helpful. I guess it isn't such a failure that I feel rather terrible during the whole process. From the moment of a positive test to that heavenly blessed most wonderful day ever when they hold up my squealing baby, it is a journey in which I am extra attuned to the nature of life. The lens through which I see is one of life-giving and life-protecting and life-altering. Which is why it is understandable that I plow through three boxes of tissues sobbing over everything from a Pamper's commercial to London's darling handwriting to the Sunday paper obituaries.

It is during these long months I open up and allow myself to become a little more pathetic and needy and empathetic. I cry more, I celebrate more, I grieve more, I feel more. And that isn't such a bad thing, now is it?


Big fat POST EDIT:

I wrote that post (and left it unpublished) a little over a week ago.

Imagine how I felt this weekend, waking up another day still pregnant. Tyler leaned over in the early morning and asked,

"How are you feeling?"

".......An ironic mixture of apathy and rage choked by hopeful -------

"Okay okay, THAT'S IT. We gotta get you out of here."

He suggested escaping town and taking the kids to the Sacramento Zoo
where it was projected to be a sunny 75 degrees. Aaahaaa! He was onto something! California air heals the soul at this time of the year.

Plus, assessing my behavior at this point in the reproductive journey, he felt it made sense to rejoin fellow primates.

{Sweet sista friend. I. get. you.}

Finnan and Forrest joined us. Dan and Ali are cool, spontaneous parents like that. Always up for a last minute adventure. We called them that morning and asked if they wanted to come along. They arrived at our house ready to go within the hour. 
If the reverse situation had occurred, I am positive I would have declined citing really. important. matters I couldn't pull myself away reclassifying my lasagna recipes according to sodium content and folding laundry.

Note to self: after this pregnancy, stop being so lame.

Poor Ellie Jane was terrified of the giraffes. Cute. Random.

Good call husband, it was just what the doctor ordered.
 A wonderful day in the sun.

Next up on doctor's orders:

A baby. 

By Friday.

No more messing around.

Signing off
 nervous, hopeful, 
grateful, scared, blessed,



amo said...

Oy! Been wondering about the status of you and baby #4...
***sending good thoughts and love to you***

Alex said...

Oh Rae,
I have to say, out of all the blogs I read, I like yours the most. Love your honesty and humor. Can't wait to see pictures of the little one. Good luck!


Joan said...

Longest post ever. I love it.
Cannot wait to meet baby :)