Before I got pregnant and before my marriage imploded into the black hole that it is I had thought that it was going to be so exciting to be able to finally blog about the pregnancy. Something positive. Something good.
There is so much to write about, in detail, yet I choose to sit around filling my time with mindless activities such as riding my bike around town all day in the sun, being social or watching movies (well, can’t do that anymore either as the shitty internet connection at the sublet has become unusable) rather than deal with the impending things that need dealing with: separation papers and logistics (You ever try writing a parenting plan before becoming a parent? It’s ludicrous.), furnishing an apartment NOW, figuring out what a baby needs and how to get it (beg, borrow, buy), finding a doula, finding baby classes, lactation consultant, daycare?! I got overwhelmed and shut down. And I’m still doing everything while Husband is off fucking a 27 year old. He gets to be in denial, I have to do everything.
Plus besides being beyond sad, I’m pissed off and resentful to find myself in this position after doing what everyone – therapists, friends, strangers, books – told me to do. Accept Husband for who he is, support his endeavors, do your own things again, let him know when he hurts me, stop expecting things and just let them happen and over time things should get better; he should feel the change. But no. Instead, Husband decided that he was just going to check out and have an affair. While we may never work as a couple I really wish that he would take responsibility for his lack of ability to connect with anyone on a meaningful level.
Everyone says that I seem just fine. Well, I’m not. I hurt. I’m pissed off. I’m sad. I’m lost. People just see the side of me that states things in a wry, matter of fact manner which makes them think that everything is ok. The side of me that says, “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone.” I don’t know how to let people take care of me really. They have their own lives – what would they do for me anyway besides listen? They aren’t going to go to work for me, pay my bills, feed me, write my separation papers for me. I have to do all that and it’s too much to take in while trying not to obsess about Husband and the Midlife Crisis hence the extensive Netflix watching.
What have I not written about:
- The 20 Week anatomy scan
- Dealing with the asshole that I bought the first Sir Foldy from
- Over analyzing Husband’s communiques from tour
- Seeing Husband upon his return on Labor Day from month long tour with the Midlife Crisis
- Researching doulas and childbirth
- The overnight change from looking “thick” to looking PREGNANT
- Researching baby stuff
- Memory Foam mattress comparison (not as stupid as it sounds)
So while this post isn’t insightful or even very information it is at least a post. And in order to write more, you must write. So I’ve written.