Suckville Week

Otherwise Known As Worries and Little Sleep
My first appointment with the OB was about a week ago. We went over just about everything and the one thing that stood out to me was Postpartum depression. He mentioned that since I was originally on Prozac for anxiety and mood swings that I was more susceptible to having Postpartum depression when the baby comes.

This is not something that I am interested in having or experiencing. My partner pointed out last night that I have been lashing out for no reason at all, or at the smallest little things. I figured it was due to the hormones, but really, I think its the fact that I have been off my medication for well over 2 months, since I stopped taking the pills before we started trying. Prozac was the one thing that kept my moods pretty stable and I was a pretty nice person to be around.

Add to this lack of medication, the constant need for sleep and not getting it, and you have a time bomb in my body waiting to explode. Well, it exploded last night. Something ridiculously stupid got me so worked up that I was crying on the couch for a good thirty minutes about how none of my jeans fit me and I’m not even showing yet and I can’t do anything right.

Let me explain this. I have been a smoker since I was about 16 years old. That’s about 11 years now. When we decided to try and have a baby, I decided that I should quit smoking. Well needless to say, 7 weeks into this pregnancy and I am still smoking. I want everyone to know that I have cut back a lot and for the most part I may smoke 1 or 2 cigarettes a day, at the most 5, depending on the day. However, I don’t think people realize how incredibly guilty I feel that I can’t just kick this stupid as hell addiction. I know that people don’t understand how guilty I feel because I am constantly listening to the comments. “Aren’t you going to quit?” “Don’t you know you shouldn’t be smoking?” “Smoking is bad for the baby.” Look people. I AM AWARE.

So now my week is no medication, no sleep, and guilt over cigarettes. Oh no, you would think it would stop there. It doesn’t.
On top of that, I am bitchy at work. Now, generally, I like my job. Its easy and it pays the bills. However, if you have ever worked in a call center, you know that its stressful and people are so much more bold over the phone than they ever would be in person. So, instead, my days generally go like this. Let’s add this to everything else and its still not where it ends.
My jeans don’t fit, I pee every thirty freaking minutes, my animals are forever trying to trip me on the way to the bathroom, my dog thinks she needs to cuddle with me, while its 100 degrees in our apartment and she runs that on her own, my feet are swollen, I have no ankles, my fingers fall asleep at the drop of a dime. I CANNOT SLEEP. Its like everything is piling up on top of me and I don’t really know where to begin or end. No one prepared me for all of this.
My partner …. she’s had enough. Besides the fact that she has her own shit to deal with. Starting with losing her job to do BiPolar Disorder and feeling like a worthless contributor, which she is not. However, because she is not working right now, and she is not getting any money coming it at the moment, though, she’s working on it, we are looking at more and more bills piling up and more and more stress to be had.
So, now, I have my shit and her shit and let’s put it all on my shoulders … carry it around and never take it off. I mean, really, is all this necessary.
7 weeks is not that far along. This baby has a whole lot of baking to do and for crying out loud, this is just 1 week of the many that will likely stress me out. I am trying so very hard to be zen and calm about things. I am trying not to let things freak me out or stress me out, but in reality, I’m a bundle of nerves and a ball of fire waiting to explode.
I am beginning to wonder if I will make it through the next 8 months in tact and with my sanity. Thus the reason for worrying about Postpartum Depression. Let’s all just cross our fingers that it doesn’t happen and this gets better, emotionally.

Let Me Explain ….

Stop Asking Me That One Annoying Question
When two women decide it is time to have a child together, the first thing people ask is, “How did this happen?” You would never really believe how often this question is asked, until you actually lived it. Its like the catch all question. Its the first and most important question when we announce we are having a baby, or when we go to the doctor’s office. Its easy. I will break it down for you.
Sperm, meet Egg, Make a Baby.

5 weeks 2 days

Really, its as simple as that. I can’t understand why it is necessary to know just how it is that I have accomplished this task. We all know how babies are made. We are all aware there is no such thing as a stork and it most certainly didn’t drop a child down the chimney for us.

The real answer. I had sex. I had a lot of sex. In fact, I had a week full of sex with a man I barely knew. Why you ask? Because my partner and I wanted a child that badly. Apparently, it takes a week of sex and some charting of my ovulation and TADA I have a baby in my belly.
In the beginning, this question embarrassed me, because well, no one wants to talk about having sex with perfect strangers. Your doctor, the nurse, the ultrasound technician, that one girl from high school you barely remember who friends you on Facebook.
Now, its just par for the course really. We wanted a child. We did what needed to be done to have a child. Was it tough on our relationship? Please tell me who wants to know that the one they love is in the other room with someone who can in fact produce the golden ticket to a child when you cannot. OF COURSE IT WAS TOUGH.
Its almost as if people are jaded by monogamous relationships that can survive just about anything. Let me tell you, we have been through a lot in 8 years. This is just another notch on the timeline in our relationship. I am not like other spouses, partners, lovers, significant others out there.
Most people have been known to run when their partners are diagnosed with any array of mental illness, physical ailment, or debilitating disease. Not me. Frankly, I loved this person before they were stuck with a stigma, a label, an extra character flaw. Love is about loving everything about that person. Love is about the flaws. Its not about rainbows and kittens.
So, please continue to ask me how I became pregnant. Be sure to ask me if it was tough on our relationship. Be extra sure to say how much you just couldn’t have done it. And also, continue to make sure I know how weirded out you are that I am in a lesbian relationship with a woman who has been diagnosed with BiPolar disorder and live in a third floor apartment we can barely afford.

I am aware that inside that not too polite head of most people, they think we aren’t cut out to be parents. I am equally aware that they think its wrong and it is a bad idea.

They can continue thinking it. These people are entitled to their opinions, can even voice them if they want.
I just reserve the right to tell them to shut the hell up.