2013

When we got married in 2008, I thought I’d be ok with not having any kids.  Less than a year later, I already knew that I had been fooling myself.

Poor AMP was actually quite supportive – considering I’d changed everything.  He said, maybe in 2013 – the year we celebrate 5 years married.

I thought that was a ridiculously long time away.  I thought I could convince him to maybe change his timeline.. Which I guess I did, because he agreed to start trying in April of 2012 for a January 2013 baby.. But, now we are at 2013 and we’re still trying.. So maybe this is the year we’re supposed to get pregnant.. :) 

So, here’s to hoping that 2013 is our year.. the year we celebrate five years, the year we welcome a baby into our family.. And a year of health and happiness. :)

 

 

A confession…

I have a confession to make.  I feel unsure about saying this out loud on here – fear of shame and shunning, I guess.  But, this is my little corner, so, here goes it…

We want a girl.

For a firstborn.

My husband, especially, is determined (and very very hopeful) that we have a girl first.  And, for the second, he would like either a girl or boy.

To clarify: we would absolutely be head over heels in love with a son OR daughter.  But, if we had a choice, we would want to have a girl first.

So, is it wrong to try and tip the scales in our favor?

Sometimes sharing is better

Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite

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For the first 22 years of my life, I slept alone.

I could stretch myself out, end-to-end, of the queen size bed I received when I was fourteen.

There were no obstacles in my way, except for the occasion stuffed animal, or visiting cousin.

blankets were all mine to hoard; the room temperature mine to control.

And, then I was married.

I remember, that first night in the hotel room, when my brand-new husband fell asleep before I did, thinking about how strange it felt to be sharing a bed with someone – a bed I will now share forever.  I wondered if he would steal my blankets; if he would turn the light off before falling asleep; if we’d sleep cuddled or each on our sides.

I remember wondering, how long till it seemed normal, to be sharing my bed every night – after 8,030 solitary nights.

I remember wondering, if I’d cherish the moments when the bed was all mine, for a single night – where I could sleep on any side of the bed I chose – or spread across all of it.

And, then my husband went away for the first time – for a bachelor party for two nights just a couple of months after we were married.

I jumped into bed – ready to spread myself out – to enjoy the freedom of not sharing a bed – and I was overwhelmed by the emptiness of it. 

What I once cherished – now I despised.  I missed my husband being inches away from me.  I missed his warmth, the sounds of his breathing… I missed sharing my bed, even just for a night or two.

For the first 22 years of my life, I slept alone.

For the last 3 ½ years I’ve shared a bed.

I think I prefer sharing.

The

The What-Ifs

“And we can sell our house and drive down and live in Brazil.  I’ll be Ricardo.  Your name can be… Miranda…” 

I interrupt my husband in the middle of his plan to flee our current life and ask him why his ‘imaginary’ futures never seem to have children in it. 

His response was to ask me why mine never involve just the two of us.  Why I don’t want it to be just him and me?

I was quite effectively silenced (though I’m not sure that was his intent).

It brought to surface one of my greatest fears – making the wrong decision on whether or not to have a child.  Especially because it is mostly my decision – it is something my husband is willing to do because I want it – and not because it’s his lifelong dream to be a father.  I love just the two of us, but I want a baby of our own.  He loves just the two of us but he says he’ll be happy with expanding our little family, if I’m happy.    

But I worry that he’ll resent me for this huge change to our lives.

And, I worry that I’ll be resentful if we don’t make this change.
 

The Ultimatum

The duffel bag spilled clothes onto the floor – still unpacked from the road-trip I had just returned from. 

Books stacked in piles, and there boxes waiting to be filled.  While I had been away my family had already packed most of their own belongings, but my room remained untouched, awaiting my return.  The move was only a week or two away, and there was still so much left to do.

I pushed away the bed, reaching underneath for all the items that were lost under there, shoved into the darkness.

I sifted through papers and photos – of items to keep and throw.  Dozens of photos looked up at me – most of them of me and Georgie.  I lost myself in the sifting. 

The distinctive melody I’d assigned for when Georgie called me blared suddenly, causing me to drop a photo I’d been looking at.  We had just returned from our road-trip yesterday, and I did not expect to hear from her today.  She had been frustrated with me the whole ride home – after I had made the executive decision to cut the trip short by one day.  One measly day – and she was angry. 

I had a whole room to pack.  I didn’t have time for chatting.  But she was supposed to be my best friend.  I shouldn’t ignore her call.

I picked up.  Absent-mindedly I chatted, my attention still mostly focused on packing.  I began to tell her I was busy, that I would call her later, when she asked me about AMP.

I stopped what I was doing, and composed my voice before answering, “Why do you ask Georgie?”

”Well are you dating him or not?  Do you like him?”

She was supposed to be my best friend… but recent lessons had taught me to be a little wary.

She was supposed to be my best friend…but I was keeping a secret from her.

I calmly replied, “I don’t see why we are having this conversation.  Do you like him?”

”No, of course not,” she sputtered indignantly. 

I was losing patience with her obsessive need to control my life.  I took in a deep breath, aiming for a calm but firm tone. 

”Then I fail to see the purpose of this, I’m really busy Georgie.  We just got back from spending every moment together for over two weeks, and now you suddenly call and ask me about him?”

”I need to know,” she replied.  “I can’t be friends with you if you are dating him.”

I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, the frustration.  She was so stubborn, so opinionated – and this was none of her business.  Why should she care?  Part of me ached to hang up, but the curiosity of what ridiculous reasoning she would spout off stopped me.

“Excuse me?  You can’t be friends with me if I date him?  Why the hell not?”

“Because, D.  You just broke up with Bob because you weren’t ready for a relationship.”

”Bob and I broke up almost a year ago.  Who I want to date is my business Georgie.”  My voice was rising.  The frustration built up inside me.  Who did she think she was?  I continued, “I’m an adult – I am capable of making my own decisions.  So, unless you know something about AMP that I don’t, like he’s secretly married, or a murderer or something, I don’t know how my dating him would affect our friendship.”  

“It just will.  I won’t be your friend anymore if you are – that’s my decision and it’s final.”

Those last words pushed me over the edge.  “Well, I don’t want to be friends with someone who gives me ultimatums.” 

And with that phone call, our friendship ended.

This post is written for The Red Dress Club prompt: “ Write about a fight.  Who won?  Why?  What happened? Use emotion.”
As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Sidelines, part I

I have two “sidelines” posts in my drafts – waiting for me to sift through the words and edit them.  While not the same, they are different parts of each other – of my personality.  Here is part one. 

Sidelines, part I

When I was a little kid I used to love being on the sidelines – watching but not actively participating.  It was so easy.  So stress free. 
I knew that if I wanted to, I could jump in anytime.  But, I was content where I was. 

I was content. 

I realize lately that being on the sidelines requires a lot of waiting around, a lot of patience.  Patience is a quality I already have in short supply.  I don’t know when I started to become less patient; perhaps with the onset of adolescence?  It seems like around then I had lost my patience, and gained envy.

I found cards my ex wrote me.  I was 17 at the time and a couple of the cards made reference to my lack of patience, where he decided to remind me that ‘patience is a virtue.’  Even though his next sentence was, “I know how much you hate that saying.”  Guess I don’t need reminders of why I dumped him…

Anyways, back to the topic at hand…

When I realized that I couldn’t jump in anytime, I started to hate the sidelines, and became envious – envious of ones in relationships, envious of friends and cousins getting engaged and getting married.  Five cousins got married before me, two of them younger than me.  When AMP and I were dating, we were ones of the last in our social group to get married, though we were older and in some cases, together longer.  

And, I began to feel the pangs of impatience and envy.

Then we got married, and all was right in the world. 

Right?

No, because then came babies.

And, for a while I was content to sit on the sidelines.  I didn’t even think I wanted a kid at all. 

And then, Mini-Principessa was born. 

And, I fell in love, hard.  I wanted my own little one.  I wanted to be a mommy.  I wanted to see AMP and myself in our own little person we could raise and love.

But, I couldn’t just jump in. 

Because, it’s not all about me; it’s not just my decision because it will change both our lives dramatically. 

So, I’m on the sidelines…waiting.  And everyday I hear of someone else getting pregnant.  And I’m jealous and envious over here on the sidelines. 

Waiting.  Waiting for when I can jump in and join.

I’m not good at waiting.

And, I still hate being told ‘Patience is a virtue.’