I never promised you a rose garden

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about expectations.  Because although I’ve been able to overcome the getting pregnant hurdle, there is one other thing that I always assumed I’d get, and haven’t and may never, which is a nice relationship.  This is one of those things that it seems nearly everyone is able to accomplish with minimal effort – much like getting pregnant – and yet a few of us out there are just left in the lurch.  I know LOTS of people, and yet only three or four single women.  The vast majority of people I know in relationships are pretty happy in them; I only know a few that are pretty dysfunctional.  I remember once I made a comment to my then-therapist about wanting to be in a relationship, and she looked at me with widened eyes as if to say, “you have NO IDEA what goes on behind closed doors.”  And I truly believe that many relationships are hopelessly codependent, or involve the woman (or the man, in more rare circumstances) being “kept down” in some way, and/or involve one or both partners sacrificing dreams and living lives of “quiet desperation”.  But not all are like this – many people are genuinely content with their partner, for the most part, and if they have troubles in their lives they involve work or family members or whatever.  Still, even in my happily knocked-up state, I can’t help but ask myself – why did it never happen for me?

I think the bigger question really is, SHOULD it ever happen for me?  When I really, seriously sit down and think about real day-to-day life in a relationship, I have to say it kind of grosses me out.  The waiting for the other person to get their act together.  The dealing with the other person’s foibles and how it reflects on you – his drinking too much at parties, his inappropriate closeness with his female assistant, his crazy relatives that he thinks are just great.  The down times when he’s lost his job and is totally impossible to live with for months.  The parenting disagreements.  The having sex when you don’t want to – or being denied it when you do, and then feeling unattractive.  The living with someone whose job it is to “call you on your shit” when in fact this is incredibly patronizing and insulting.  The whole guy thing of “I can do it, we don’t need to hire someone,” and then hiring someone because he never does it or fucks it up.  The obligatory work/in-law gatherings you don’t want to go to.  I just can’t think of any guy who would be so awesome, smell so good, and have such great hair that would make me want to put up with all this.  Maybe five years ago, but not now.  Especially not now that my biological imperative has been met.  The idea of coupling with anyone is kind of repulsive to me.  And yet I still have that weird, knee-jerk reaction when I see couples of, “but I want that, too!”  But do I?  Do I, really?  Or have I just been conditioned by decades of sitcoms, romantic comedies, love songs, and nineteenth-century novels, all of which end in a storybook wedding?  None of these things fast forward a few months to the day your husband wants to do some sick thing in the bedroom, or the day you find his cache of porn on his computer, or the day he spends your retirement on a motor cycle because he wanted to.  I want to see THAT romantic comedy.  Starring Jennifer Anniston and Ashton Kutcher.  Woo-woo.

I had a conversation recently with a divorced woman in her early forties who was getting back into dating, and having kind of a “meh” experience (my experience exactly).  We talked a lot about “He’s Just Not That Into You”, a book I enjoyed for its empowering message, which is hammered home again and again – you’re awesome, you deserve someone who treats you like the queen you are.  And that’s all great.  It certainly helped break me of the habit of pursuing people who weren’t really interested, which was a real problem for me for a while.  But I brought up to my friend one problem I found with the book – what if NO ONE is ever “that into you”?  What if you spend your entire life going on dates with people who are just never that into it, you hit forty, you’re childless, you want a family?  Then what?  I can count on one hand the times I’ve actually been asked out by a man – and most of these people were wildly inappropriate (ie, my last brief encounter, the guy with no place to live, no job, no car, no money, and a habit of mooching off of people – if you say he was “the one that got away”, you’re nuts).  The rest was years and years of endless internet dates that went nowhere.  None of those people were remotely “into” me.  Neither were any of the people I was set up with, met randomly out and about in the world, met on Greek cruises, whatever.  Not one.  So, then what?  The book doesn’t answer this question.  I want the book titled “What To Do When Nobody Is Ever That Into You”.  I believe it’s called “Choosing Single Motherhood.”

So, did that.  And I’ll say again I’m happy I did, and deep down believe, much like my male friend who said, “why am I not surprised you’d go this route?” that this was sort of my destiny, in a way.  Still I will freely admit I have those odd little moments of weirdness and jealousy – like my jealousy of my married friend – where I find myself wondering why I can’t have what everyone else gets to have.  Isn’t this a similar question to the one infertile people ask themselves on a daily basis – why can’t I have a baby like magic like everyone else?  This was the tagline of one of my favorite blogs, called Fucking Infertility, which has now been deleted because the author decided after many failed IVF attempts to just pack it in.  The blankness of that deleted page makes me sad, and I’ll always wonder what happened to her, and wish her well.  But this gets to the universal question of, “why am I being deprived of something that everyone else gets?”  It’s an ugly question to ask, and I SINCERELY hope someday I’ll make my peace with this issue, stop being jealous of my happily married friends, and just let go of all of that relationship crap.  Relationships just aren’t that into me.  The end.

To read more about how horribly wrong asking the question “why not me?” can go, read this.

16 weeks

Today I am a turnip.  Or rather, the baby is a turnip.  I was quite interested to learn that the baby may be able to hear things now – WTE says that babies at this stage are startled by dogs barking, but once they’re born are used to the noise and can sleep through it.  I sure hope so, because when my dog hears a gardener or pool guy anywhere near this place she can go off on a barking jag for hours.  I’ve often wondered how to handle this, since no amount of saying “no” will stop her – after all, she’s doing her job, protecting the house!  I do have a small office I can put her in so at least the baby won’t be disturbed, but it would be nice if the baby could sleep through it.  I don’t want the dog associating anything negative with the baby’s arrival.  That seems like a potential recipe for disaster there.

Yesterday I received a letter from my old clinic wishing me well in my pregnancy and reminding me to tell them when I deliver, for their records.  For some reason, getting this letter was huge to me.  I will for sure keep it in some baby keepsake file.  When I think it was almost a year ago that I timidly went to that place for my first consultation, trying to convince myself that it’s the most normal thing in the world for a single, non-pregnant woman to walk into a building full of sperm and talk to a stranger about how to get some to put up my hoo-hah.  I am dying to know if my donor has any other pregnancies on his record – surely his having knocked up a 39-year-old woman (twice) should make him more appealing.  I will definitely join the Donor Sibling Registry when the baby’s born.  Maybe finding at least one sibling for my kid to (occasionally) spend time with will alleviate my guilt over (potentially) not providing one myself.

Speaking of which, my heart goes out to my Mom Guru friend who is currently having what should have been a fun getaway week to Denver, only to be stuck sick, with a sick husband, and two sick kids, one of which has been to Urgent Care twice already.  It sounds perfectly horrendous.  And seriously made me think, “yeah…one’s enough.”  It just seems…cleaner, somehow.  More manageable.  Especially for a single chick with limited space & resources.  Still, the battle rages on.  Biological drive is a funny thing.

I saw my guy friend group the other night.  It’s funny how I have this compulsion to not even mention the pregnancy unless asked about it, and even then to keep it short and sweet, just saying things like, “it’s fine,” and then moving on.  What’s that about?  They’re guys, they’re not going to be jealous of me.  They’re just being polite, and may actually be somewhat interested since the whole thing is pretty out of left field.  Why do I not feel comfortable talking about it?  I guess I just have this terror of being that pain-in-the-ass pregnant lady (see The Cranemakers); also lately I had the image in my mind of the pregnant coworker in the Christmas finale of the UK version of “The Office”.  God, if anyone ever looked at me like that I would just die.  But I think there’s more to it – I think those of us raised with narcissistic mothers are just taught early that it’s not ok for anything to ever be about us.  We feel extremely uncomfortable with praise or attention; it just feels wrong, because in our house it was all about our mother and we were just the pit crew.  This was made blatantly clear to me when I saw that “Bethenny Ever After” episode with her 40^th birthday where she freaked out and couldn’t handle the attention – I know that feeling so well!  So I think I’m having a little of that.  It’s a combination of not wanting to be the crashing bore pregnant lady for whom everything is about the pregnancy and every other aspect of their life ceases to exist, and the old, deep set feeling from my mother that it’s not ok to get attention (because all the attention should be on her).  What to do about it?  Nothing, really.  I’ll continue to talk to people about it who are genuinely interested, and everyone else I’ll mention it when asked but keep my monologues short.  I guess that’s the best I can do. 

Physically, I’m ok – still a little nauseated here and there (last night I ditched out on plans AGAIN because I just didn’t feel up to it) but in general eating like a normal person.  No cravings, and not eating a lot, because I feel (perhaps correctly) that my stomach has shrunk, and eating a nice sized portion of anything makes me feel like my stomach will explode.  So all this talk on WTE about eating an entire pizza in one setting…yeah, that could never happen around here.  An ordinary bowl of pasta and I feel like I’m going to burst.  This may change later, however.  But I kind of hope it doesn’t since I’d rather not put on 80 lbs in this pregnancy if I can help it.  Checking in every day with Radio Ga Ga and am interested to see after a lengthy stint under my birth mark in my left belly, the baby has switched sides to the lower right.  It’s funny to hear the heartbeat and then hear it go away and then come back, knowing the baby is shifting around but I can’t feel it yet.  I wonder if I’ll have another ultrasound at my ob appointment next week…?  I doubt it.  Sure would be nice to see him/her again.  As for my body, I look…FECUND.  Just round and curvy all over.  Kind of how I look when I gain about seven pounds every Christmas.  Personally, I think it’s cute.  It’s odd to me that women bemoan the loss of their pre-pregnancy bodies and feel fat and unattractive…I mean, you’re pregnant, you’re supposed to look like this!  But then again, I could a) feel like this later, and b) not be as concerned because, again, I don’t have to worry about keeping some man sexually attracted to me.  Also I’m older and have already had years of accepting that my body will change with time and other than maniacally working out and/or dieting, there’s not a whole heck of a lot you can do about it.  But I’m a grown-ass woman.  I’m in charge of things.  Why do I want the body of an eighteen-year-old?  I don’t.  I’ve earned these thighs, dammit!

 

I'm going to be FAAAAMOUS

Not!  No, today I was interviewed for a potential reality show “on a popular women’s network” (which could only be Lifetime, Oxygen, or OWN) called “Single & Pregnant”.  I found the casting call on the Los Angeles thread of my WTE app a few days ago and sent an e-mail.  Originally it sounded like they wanted women who were just divorced or abandoned by boyfriends, so I sent my story with a “I don’t know if this is the kind of story you wanted, but…” caveat, and to my delight the agent called me and they did a little taped interview here at my house just now.  I was glad that their questions were very basic and not leading – I would have been kind of turned off if I felt they wanted to “shape” my story into some weird, pathetic thing, like that I was desperate for a man or was sad and lonely in some way or something.  But they seemed to be on board with the whole happy & single & pregnant thing, so good.  Now they edit a reel together and the producers pick who they want.  So I may not be picked because they just don’t like my face.  Or I may be picked and the show will never materialize.  Can I tell you how often I’ve been approached over the last 10+ years by people wanting to make a documentary or reality show about my dance event, and nothing has EVER come of any of it, after countless interviews and tapings and borrowing of my old footage and time spent and lunches?  Nothing, not one thing.  So odds are nothing will come of this.  But it sure is fun to think about.

Mainly I would like to show that this “method” of family building is not weird or creepy or a last resort for losers.  I’d like to put a positive face on the SMC world – that we can actually be really happy and content in our choice and have no regrets; that we can be normal and (somewhat) emotionally healthy, that we’re not going to depend on our children to fix what’s “broken” in us or fulfill all our emotional needs.  I know for me if I’d had any kind of role model at all in this SMC world (well, other than the women brave enough to start organizations and/or write books, you know who you are!) it would have made the “thinking” period a lot easier (although truth be told it was pretty easy for me).  I feel like the SMC world is so common and yet so hidden because, like infertility, people just don’t talk about it.  Well, I want to talk about it!

So this could go one of many ways.  It could go absolutely nowhere (most likely).  I could shoot the show but then it could never air.  I could shoot the show, it could air, but nobody would see it, and it would be just a vague memory of this crazy thing I did that one time.  Or I could shoot the show, it could air, and could change my life.  I would love it if I could be a spokesperson of sorts for the SMC lifestyle – maybe my story could give hope to women getting on in years who thought because they never met anyone decent that they could never be mothers, and maybe even prevent women from consciously/unconsciously using men as live sperm donors just because they want kids so badly, but really don’t care about the relationship.  If nothing else I would hope it opens people’s eyes to the reality that there are lots of ways to live your life and lots of kinds of families and it’s all ok. 

In other news it is wicked hot here for a couple of days so I am taking this opportunity to heat up the pool.  It probably won’t warm up in time to swim today (69 degrees this morning…brrr) but maybe by tomorrow I can get it to a nice mid-80s temp and have a lovely day by the pool in mid October.  This is the time of year I love LA!

Been enjoying Radio Ga Ga lately.  Had one night where I’d had a huge meal and the heartbeat was very faint and couldn’t get a read, but told myself not to panic and tried again a couple of hours later and it was fine.  Amazed that I still have those moments of sheer paranoia, but I guess that’s normal.  A friend who I knew some years ago had a fairly late miscarriage told me she was halfway through her 2^nd trimester, ate some weird cheese, threw up for a week and then lost the baby.  Ahhhh!  It must have been that listeria infection that we’re warned about.  Any question I had about continuing to eat my favorite farmer’s market goat cheese has now been answered.  I remember when that happened with her and it was really awful – but I didn’t know the cheese connection.  So from now on I’m not eating cheese unless it’s as hard as my head and/or has been processed up the ying-yang. 

Mom jeans and the kindness of strangers

Today I was feeling pretty decent so decided to check out Old Navy’s maternity section.  I don’t typically shop at Old Navy – not for any reason other than I’ve been out of the habit of shopping at all ever since my income took a dive a couple of years ago and wasn’t really an Old Navy shopper before.  But on Googling maternity clothes Old Navy seemed to be at the top of the list, so I went. 

Boy, what a disappointment!  The maternity section of this store was just a tiny little corner – completely picked over with like four things on offer, and most of it pretty unappealing and badly made.  I’m a big fabric person and manmade fabrics just turn my stomach.  Of course shopping late on a Sunday probably wasn’t the best idea – I’m sure the section looked a lot nicer at the beginning of the weekend.  However I wasn’t there for cute clothes; I have plenty of tent-like items already that I wore in my pre-pregnancy era.  I needed just some basic things.  A decent pair of jeans, since it’s starting to get nippy around here and I can’t just wear dresses forever.  A couple of long tanks and long shirts with long sleeves as layering pieces, since the ones I have now look more like crop tops.  Luckily the first pair of maternity jeans I bought fit great other than being about six inches too long.  So I got those, two long sleeved shirts, and two tanks.  That ought to hold me for a while.  Later on I will need some warm pyjamas (I don’t know who can sleep in these little cotton tank tops in the middle of winter – brrr!), a pair of black pants, and a decent black wrap dress I can wear to sing when I get too big for any of my 40s stuff (luckily I have one 40’s wrap around black dress with sequins which I’m hoping I can wear right up to the end – apparently women in the 40s didn’t so much hang around in nightclubs when they were nine months pregnant).

When I got to the checkout counter I was shocked that the very young checkout girl asked if I was expecting, and I said yes, and she said was this my first, and I said yes, and asked if I was excited, and I said yes.  When I left she said, “congratulations!”  Now,  I don’t know if they’re trained to do this when a woman buys maternity clothes or if it was just her sunny disposition, but I loved it!  There’s something so honest about a stranger’s happiness for you.  No mixed feelings, no agenda.  Just hey, you’re a total stranger to me, I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but you’re having a baby and I’m happy for you.  Awesome.

It reminded me of the last time I was in a store and someone was nice to me.  It was shortly after my mother and I had our “break up”.  I was an emotional wreck and very raw from the experience.  I was buying a sofa at a JC Penny, and when it was time to pay with a credit card I casually mentioned that I hoped it went through because my purse had just been stolen and all my credit cards were on high alert for unusual purchases.  The sales lady took both my hands in hers, looked at me earnestly in the eye, and said something along the lines of how sorry she was for me and how things would get better for me, she promised.  I was completely taken aback, and touched.  Remember, my own mother just a week or so before had told me my purse being stolen was all my fault, that bad things don’t just happen to people, we bring them on ourselves with our thinking.  And here this complete stranger was able to muster more sympathy and love for me than my own mother.  Sigh!  I hope that lady got a raise.

When I got home I had a little burst of energy and decided to FINALLY clean my frickin’ house.  I’m no neatnik, believe me, but I notice I do feel bothered when the house isn’t clean, and feel very content and relaxed when it is.  I scrubbed the bathroom from top to bottom, unclogged the sink drain, vacuumed the whole house, and dusted everything.  The place smells of cleaners and is so shiny – and it’s such a pleasure to walk on my thin rugs and not feel little bits of stuff get caught on the bottom of my feet.  Every time I clean I think, “this is great!  I need to do this more often…” or “I need to just set a schedule so I do one thing at a time and everything just stays clean,” but none of this ever seems to happen.  Will it when I have a kid?  I sure hope so.  I will certainly be more motivated to keep the filth at bay when I have a baby shoving things into his/her mouth and crawling on the grimy floor, for sure. 

I have decided to cancel my current expensive YMCA membership and replace it with some (more) expensive prenatal yoga classes.  I miss yoga like the dickens but am afraid to take up with my old class because it’s pretty hard core and does a lot with you on your stomach or on your back lifting your legs and such, and both of these are not good for pregnancy.  I keep not going because I’m afraid I’m going to hurt one of us.  But I could really get into prenatal yoga if I felt it was safe and helping me to strengthen necessary muscles, work on breathing techniques, etc.  So there are a couple of studios nearby I’ll start checking out.  One has a course in Hypnobabies I’m very interested in, so we’ll see.