Today is the third anniversary of my first post here. My third blogiversary, if you will. Frankly I don’t feel like saying a whole lot about it, but I do feel like I should at least make a note of it, since I apparently glossed over nearly the entire months of both November and December last year. I still have a hard time writing about the reason I started this blog, having a miscarriage. I started writing here looking for a therapeutic outlet, though it’s served several other purposes as well over the past few years. When I think back on the time between mid-September and late November 2006 I wonder how the hell I was keeping any sanity (not well, to answer my own wondering). It’s not a pleasant reminiscence. I was doing way too much Dr. Googling and reading infertility horror stories on the blogs of those who’ve lived through much, much worse than I have. Grieving something I hadn’t realized I wanted until it was long gone.
What-if is not an advisable game to play, so of course I do. Had that pregnancy yielded a baby, it would have been a wanted child, if a completely, irresponsibly unplanned one. On the other hand, the idea of us now having a two year old is pretty much laughable, somehow. I don’t know why that is. I suppose as time’s passed, I’ve not let myself put a timetable on the plan to spawn, so as not to obsess over it and force us into “trying” when really, the circumstances that would have made the continuation of that pregnancy so stressful (not having much money) haven’t really changed much. Sometimes I wish I were logical enough to say, we can’t afford it, so we won’t do it. I like to think I’m a thinker, but I know I’m a feeler. That wouldn’t be childfree by choice for me, that would be childfree at financial gunpoint for me. Like signing myself up for heartbreak, giving myself a reason to resent myself. I’d like to avoid that, have a kid to resent instead.
Mostly. I mean, hopefully assuming we go for it and successfully breed in the nearish future, I fully expect to mourn the loss of freedom that comes with every happy parent’s first special little miracle. There aren’t all those clichés for no reason, I’m sure. We’ve made a point to enjoy doing things we probably wouldn’t do, or at least would do much less often, having a kid. On a small scale, for the most part, it’s not as though we’re very spontaneous or at all extravagant about it, but still. The simple things like having dinner whenever the hell we feel like it, sleeping in, generally unclean living and just being lazy. I’m not a total fool, I know you don’t get away with that shit very much with kids. It doesn’t go unappreciated. Even buying the house, getting a dog, volunteering with CASA. Probably would not have happened. Yes, the adopting a dog thing can be a substitute, something to in theory take the place of or tide one over until it’s baby time, and perhaps it partly was in my case. But if I drop Dexter off at my parents’ house for a night I don’t worry about him, you know? Obviously, a dog is not a child. Is this the distinction that makes me cringe hearing my MIL refer to my FIL as Grandpa because she’s talking to or about the dog? Or when my mom refers to me as his mama (momma? OMG)? Because WOW does it make me cringe. Like these commercials. They make me want to punch something, still cringing. But that’s what I get for watching Gossip Girl, I guess. Where am I going with this again? Oh yes, this place. Where else could I confess such things? Twitter? I suppose, but it’s nice to have a place to stretch a statement or seven of the obvious into way more than the 140 characters that could probably do it justice. Basically, I’ll never really be ready but I just might do it anyway. Being an ungrateful brat, I don’t think I expressed much if any thankfulness at all in proximity to Thanksgiving, but I am grateful to have this place to talk to myself about it. Sorry for boring you to tears with my narcissism. Publishing against my own better judgement, because that’s what I do. Because I can.