I’ve been chewing on this post and tiptoe-ing around the taboo since announcing this pregnancy for fear of offending or ostracizing or something to someone. Or myself from the rest of the universe. But I can’t NOT write this.
I’ve had over a month for this pregnancy to sink in and I’m still not sure how I feel about it.
When I wrote this summer that because we weren’t 100%, we were waiting, I meant it. And I was okay with it. When we really looked at things, now wasn’t the best time. We needed to wait. As the summer went on and Joshua and I had a great time together (and some not-so-great times, I’ll admit) I really started to envision our life with just him. And I liked what I saw. At least until he was older and could understand what another baby meant.
When I say “we didn’t plan this” I mean “we didn’t plan this.”
And this? This is not the kind of thing that I don’t plan.
I feel irresponsible somehow, like a teenager who gets knocked up in the backseat of a car. In fact, this unplanned pregnancy is the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done in 29 years on this earth. And I went to a party school for college and pledged a sorority if that tells you anything. (Sorry, Mama. I hope I’m still the Golden Child.)
This irresponsibility leaves me with a feeling of shame. Guilt. Angst.
I feel guilty when I think of my friends who are battling infertility who so desperately want this that they’d do just about anything, including stab themselves with needles.
I don’t want to talk about this pregnancy because all I can find to do right now is complain and complaining must make me seem like a miserable excuse for a human being to them. I know it stings. I know it hurts. And that compounds my guilt and shame so that I’m not only feeling those feelings because of this unplanned pregnancy but also because of how I must be hurting them with how ungrateful I am.
And I know that I’m being ungrateful with what is obviously meant for me for reasons I can’t yet see and maybe never will.
I have no idea how to flip a switch and suddenly be grateful when physically and emotionally I’m miserable.
I have small flashes of excitement. I’ll see a cute baby outfit or a pair of booties and think of how much I loved Joshua in those things and I’ll feel a smile form in my heart. But then a wave of nausea washes over me and I’m back to feeling like a stranger in my own body. Like this is happening TO me instead of WITH me.
And then I think of the women who would gladly feel like puking their guts out 24 hours a day and I start to kind of hate myself for feeling so ungrateful.
I know there’s not a baby-quota, but why not them? Why me? Why me when I feel so horrifically unequipped for this?