I’m having an out of body experience.
Some people say they’re having a bad day. A bad week. A bad month. I’m having a bad year.
Earlier this year, I found out that I was pregnant. I’m not sure if I’m 16 and in high school and feeling like my future is ruined and over, or if I’m a 32 year old in a stable marriage, good financial condition, with a 4-bedroom house with plenty of room. Either way, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
I really thought that based on a health issue, I was guaranteed infertility. I thought I could just placate my child-needing husband by giving-in and telling him, sure, I’ll go off birth control. I never thought anything would happen, or if it did happen, it would take so long that I’d have finally warmed up to the idea.
That didn’t happen.
After about 3 months of being off birth control, the worst thing happened. I got pregnant. I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready.
I was in denial for my entire first trimester, thinking that surely if I wasn’t supposed to have kids (I’m not), this thing wouldn’t work out. I’d read that for healthy chics, 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. That was a fraction that made me feel just a little bit safe.
I was never good at math.
So here I am, 23+ weeks into this thing, and every day it seems to get just a little bit worse. The closer October gets, the more days of the week I spend crying all day. I don’t WANT a kid. I liked my life. A kid is going to ruin my life.
I’ve never liked children. I actually hate kids. They bug the shit out of me. They are selfish, money-sucking creatures that don’t give a shit about you. They’re also filthy and disgusting. I see no redeeming qualities in a child.
So now, instead of my husband resenting me for refusing to have children, my husband resents me for not wanting the kid I already have.
I wish only good things for this kid. I hope that it gets none of my extreme depression, my OCD, my bad skin, my eating/weight issues, my crooked teeth, my oily hair, or my poor eyesight. But beyond that, I just can’t say that I care.
I can’t say that I care an ounce if people think I’m cold and heartless. I’ve never given any indication that I liked children. I’ve always been forthright in my extreme distaste and loathing of children.
I also loathe people who can’t just suck up their situations and get on with their lives. Shut the fuck up already. So I will be responsible about this and get back on medication as soon as I can. I’ll also continue going to therapy once a week to try and make it through this without a complete mental breakdown (if that hasn’t already happened yet). But I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to hear from you super happy people about how much you looove your kid(s). I can’t relate. No, my pregnancy isn’t going by super fast and omg you just won’t believe how quickly it’s going to be over. Every day feels like a step closer to an imminent tragic ending. Every day feels like I lose just a little bit of myself. Every day I feel more and more alone.
And that’s fine. I’ll get through this. I’m an inherently super-responsible person. I’ll step up and do what I need to do to make sure that this kid has a good life and that child services never needs to be called.
I’m not sure that my marriage will survive this, or that I’ll come out in one piece, but it is what it is.