I woke up this morning with a sore throat, which seems to me to be the psychosomatic manifestation of this 'voiceless' feeling in which I've been wallowing. Also, last night I broke out in a mild case of hives, which I can't explain with any environmental factor and so am attributing to stress and this feeling of desperate panic that I've been suffering.
The other day, I prayed to the powers that be (raised Catholic, practice open ended spirituality, but in times of desperation it's the grandfatherly Catholic deity that ends up looking down on me with those regrettably anglo blue eyes and embarrassingly caucasian complexion), to please never ever give me a child.
That was gunna be a post secret and now I've blabbed it out here in cyberspace. "Oh Well."
The decision to go ahead and try for children has been teetering for some time now. Obviously in the immediate we haven't the revenue to support any offspring, so we aren't trying to procreate or anything--in fact we're still actively practising methods to avoid such a situation. However, it had always been an eventuality for us. A fondly anticipated 'someday'.
Only in the last year or so has this expected eventuality come under scrutiny. Do we really really want kids? I mean, in reality? For Realz? Do we want diapers and bottles and giving up every bit of personal time, and working too hard and screaming and teething and doctors and the responsibility and the utter bone-weary exhaustion? Are we really cut out for that?
Recently, to my thinking, the answer has been a pretty resounding 'NO!'.
I no longer believe I was meant to, nor want to, be somebody's mother. And coming to this decision, admitting it to myself nakedly and without judgement, seemed to relieve a great deal of pressure from my too-stressed mind\heart\spirit. The guilt came from the fact that I am not a solitary entity. I have a partner in all this. A partner who happens to be pretty fucking amazing, and who would be one amazing father.
So when I sat in my car this weekend and sobbed my heart out, when I sat there blubbering and self-flagellating, when I sat there and finally gave voice to my darkest, lonliest thoughts and I asked that old Catholic God and all those Catholic saints to please, please, please NEVER give me a child-- it was with a measure of relief and a healthy dose of guilt. Because I was making that decision for two people, and that isn't fair.
It took me a day or so, but I finally confessed to my husband that I didn't want children. His reaction was alot calmer than I expected. I guess I should have expected him to be perfect, he very nearly always is perfect.
"Are you sure about this?" He asked me gently.
I couldn't speak, my throat too tight, so I nodded and didn't meet his large, concerned eyes.
He probed only delicately into the 'why' of it, but didn't press. He asked if I could live with the decison, if I wouldn't regret it. I told him the only regret I had was that he would be such a wonderful father, but that that didn't seem reason enough to bring a child into the world with me for a mother. He was sweet and gentle and told me I'd be a wonderful mother, but nothing he or anybody else can say could ever convince me of that. So he hugged me and kissed me and told me no decisions had to be made now, and that I should put it from my mind because it isn't an immediate concern, and then we went about our business.
But I'll tell you something weird. After I made that request of God or the fates or the universe or whatever, after I begged never to get a child but before I confessed everything to Aaron? My husband fell into a very rare (for him) and almost unshakeable depression. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was the bluest of blue. He doubted everything that makes him great. He was plagued by self loathing. He told me of a dream where he came home to find himself hanging from the shower curtain and he told me he felt only relief. Not revulsion, not terror, not grief. He was relieved.
(he swears up and down that he doesn't want to die, or commit suicide, btw, he is afraid of death like most normal people, but he said in the dream it was just such a load off to see that that part of him, whatever it was, had finally ended it all.)
So, guys, I think I really did something permanent by putting that request out there in the universe. I think Aaron was subconsciously grieving the loss of our potential future, and I think I did that to him.
And I've been grieving it in part too. The initial sense of calm and assurance I felt on making the decision has been replaced by doubt and a twinge of regret and by alot of snarled, tangled emotions, but nothing that screams out: "I was wrong! Forgive Me! Take it Back!!"
More like all these centuries worth of gender role bullshit that is designed to make me feel less-than or incomplete, or never fully realized until I carry and deliver and rear.
But it just isn't for everyone folks.
And if you lived in here, if you listened to what goes on up in this domepiece everyday? You'd likely agree with me. I'm not fit.
Maybe this will mean eventual separation from the only person who has ever truly been my everything, maybe I'll need to let him go because he was meant to be someone's father, but I really don't see me changing my mind on this decision. It is too big. There's too much at stake. And if the day comes where he needs to persue the biological imperitive given him by nature or the universe or the divine? Then I will have to let go. Our partnership must end. And I would send him with my blessing.
I just wish I didn't feel like such a selfish asshole about this. Because really, that's like false pretenses, isn't it?
Ah well.
And if you ever witness me getting swept up in baby fever again, please, i beg you, remind me of this resolution. It is way too important to be swept aside or dismissed or forgotten or explained away.
The other day, I prayed to the powers that be (raised Catholic, practice open ended spirituality, but in times of desperation it's the grandfatherly Catholic deity that ends up looking down on me with those regrettably anglo blue eyes and embarrassingly caucasian complexion), to please never ever give me a child.
That was gunna be a post secret and now I've blabbed it out here in cyberspace. "Oh Well."
The decision to go ahead and try for children has been teetering for some time now. Obviously in the immediate we haven't the revenue to support any offspring, so we aren't trying to procreate or anything--in fact we're still actively practising methods to avoid such a situation. However, it had always been an eventuality for us. A fondly anticipated 'someday'.
Only in the last year or so has this expected eventuality come under scrutiny. Do we really really want kids? I mean, in reality? For Realz? Do we want diapers and bottles and giving up every bit of personal time, and working too hard and screaming and teething and doctors and the responsibility and the utter bone-weary exhaustion? Are we really cut out for that?
Recently, to my thinking, the answer has been a pretty resounding 'NO!'.
I no longer believe I was meant to, nor want to, be somebody's mother. And coming to this decision, admitting it to myself nakedly and without judgement, seemed to relieve a great deal of pressure from my too-stressed mind\heart\spirit. The guilt came from the fact that I am not a solitary entity. I have a partner in all this. A partner who happens to be pretty fucking amazing, and who would be one amazing father.
So when I sat in my car this weekend and sobbed my heart out, when I sat there blubbering and self-flagellating, when I sat there and finally gave voice to my darkest, lonliest thoughts and I asked that old Catholic God and all those Catholic saints to please, please, please NEVER give me a child-- it was with a measure of relief and a healthy dose of guilt. Because I was making that decision for two people, and that isn't fair.
It took me a day or so, but I finally confessed to my husband that I didn't want children. His reaction was alot calmer than I expected. I guess I should have expected him to be perfect, he very nearly always is perfect.
"Are you sure about this?" He asked me gently.
I couldn't speak, my throat too tight, so I nodded and didn't meet his large, concerned eyes.
He probed only delicately into the 'why' of it, but didn't press. He asked if I could live with the decison, if I wouldn't regret it. I told him the only regret I had was that he would be such a wonderful father, but that that didn't seem reason enough to bring a child into the world with me for a mother. He was sweet and gentle and told me I'd be a wonderful mother, but nothing he or anybody else can say could ever convince me of that. So he hugged me and kissed me and told me no decisions had to be made now, and that I should put it from my mind because it isn't an immediate concern, and then we went about our business.
But I'll tell you something weird. After I made that request of God or the fates or the universe or whatever, after I begged never to get a child but before I confessed everything to Aaron? My husband fell into a very rare (for him) and almost unshakeable depression. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he was the bluest of blue. He doubted everything that makes him great. He was plagued by self loathing. He told me of a dream where he came home to find himself hanging from the shower curtain and he told me he felt only relief. Not revulsion, not terror, not grief. He was relieved.
(he swears up and down that he doesn't want to die, or commit suicide, btw, he is afraid of death like most normal people, but he said in the dream it was just such a load off to see that that part of him, whatever it was, had finally ended it all.)
So, guys, I think I really did something permanent by putting that request out there in the universe. I think Aaron was subconsciously grieving the loss of our potential future, and I think I did that to him.
And I've been grieving it in part too. The initial sense of calm and assurance I felt on making the decision has been replaced by doubt and a twinge of regret and by alot of snarled, tangled emotions, but nothing that screams out: "I was wrong! Forgive Me! Take it Back!!"
More like all these centuries worth of gender role bullshit that is designed to make me feel less-than or incomplete, or never fully realized until I carry and deliver and rear.
But it just isn't for everyone folks.
And if you lived in here, if you listened to what goes on up in this domepiece everyday? You'd likely agree with me. I'm not fit.
Maybe this will mean eventual separation from the only person who has ever truly been my everything, maybe I'll need to let him go because he was meant to be someone's father, but I really don't see me changing my mind on this decision. It is too big. There's too much at stake. And if the day comes where he needs to persue the biological imperitive given him by nature or the universe or the divine? Then I will have to let go. Our partnership must end. And I would send him with my blessing.
I just wish I didn't feel like such a selfish asshole about this. Because really, that's like false pretenses, isn't it?
Ah well.
And if you ever witness me getting swept up in baby fever again, please, i beg you, remind me of this resolution. It is way too important to be swept aside or dismissed or forgotten or explained away.
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