My ovaries flee in terror!!

[CathyBogart]

From Dooce.com

Undone
11 May 2004

Some days are really good.

Some days start with bacon and biscuits and then more bacon because the first round of bacon wasn’t enough. Some days have foot rubs and flowers and an extra 30 minutes of sleep, delicious and indulgent. Some days the drugs seem to work and I feel like I am born to do this, and I look at her and I don’t remember the stretch marks or the constipation or the episiotomy or the bladder infections or the constantly malfunctioning left boob that wakes me up every four days with a clogged milk duct or the hemorrhoids or the bloating or the nausea or the tremendous weight gain.

Some days I can enjoy living in the moment and I treasure her little feet and fingers and squeals and excessive drool, because I know she will never be this little again. Some days I hope she never grows up.

Some days are really, really bad.

Some days she starts screaming only a half hour after she wakes up and I immediately want to hit the reset button. Some days it feels like the drugs don’t work, and the isolation of spending my entire day with someone who can’t tell me what she wants, PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, spreads like a disease in my body, choking me and rendering me paralyzed.

Some days I remember the ongoing physical pain of bringing and having this child in the world, and I wonder how much more my body can take. Some days I make it to 11 AM, and then I make it to 2 PM, and then I try, try, try to make it until Jon comes home, and when I do I feel simultaneously triumphant and beaten down.

Some days I stare eternity in the face and I think about how many diapers I will change that will only get dirty, towels I will wash that will only become soiled, dishes I will load into the dishwasher that we’ll use to eat again and again, and I feel utterly useless, as if I am fighting a battle that cannot be won.

Some days my life is reduced to an hour by hour game of survival and I don’t feel like I’ll make it another 15 minutes and I can’t believe I feel this way and I can’t stop crying.

I hate feeling this way.


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Next time my mother gives me any "You'll change your mind" garbage I'll print this out for her. This woman has since checked herself into a psychiatric hospital.