I used to have so many feelings.
The decision to start a family was one I spent years contemplating, working out my depression and anxieties, working out my faith in life and in myself and in families, loving the beauty and accepting the boogers. When we finally decided the time was right, we were so happy. Then, getting pregnant was a little less straightforward than we thought, and we got a little nervous. Then, we got the positive test but we were doubtful. Then we had the ultrasound and we were excited and terrified.
Now we’re 16 weeks into it and we’re almost definitely going to have a live baby by September. And now, I have only one feeling.
Just a few weeks ago I had the best husband in the world. Now, whenever I want to be alone he’s in my face, and whenever I want him around he’s playing his goddamn video games. He only reads me things I don’t want to hear, and when he’s reading silently I’m like, “Hello?!? Care to share with your wife? The mother of your child?” He only touches me when I don’t want to be touched, and when I do want him close, he’s too scared of my glowing red rage eyes. God! what is wrong with him?!?!
Deep breath in… just like your therapist showed you… and out…
God help me, I’m headed straight for Dante’s fifth circle of Hell to spend eternity mud-wrestling the rest of the wrathful.
And anyway, this is the second trimester. I’m supposed to be brimming with serenity and bliss. I should’ve transformed into Gaia the Earth Mother by now – instead I’ve gone straight-up Medusa.
And the next time I hear someone whining about “I can’t, you turned me to stone!” I swear to god…