Misery Abhors Company subtitled If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say, Don't Blog at All

Not that it's ever stopped me before. But sometimes, misery is a personal thing.

Am I "miserable" - not in every minute of every day but overall, let's look at the big picture.

For one thing, I'm huge. Huge as in big. As in my pelvic bones have shifted and my abdominal muscles aren't doing their job, or more specifically, are valiently trying to do their former job but are straining mightily at the task. My stomach hurts, low as in it's tearing the abdoman muscles, and high as in under my ribs stretching. My belly button has flattened, and I feel a pulling under my arms, indicating that every possible fiber of muscle and tissue are spreading.

In several words, two to be exact, "It Hurts".

Now here's the funny thing. No kidding it hurts. No shit. I'm pregnant. Um hmmm, yep, it hurts. But what is... not galling... but upsetting is, it hurts beyond my realm of expectation. I have, in old Boston vernacular, a wicked high tolerance for pain. Wicked. Meaning that i rolled my ankle two years ago and it still hurts and you never really hear me discuss it. Meaning I fell asleep during a root canal. Meaning I have the studiness of the Italian peasant woman I very likely descended from and I'm strong - like ox - and I am hearty. And I'm tired of being in pain.

But the pain, the daily pain, is constant. And unrelenting.

And adding to it is the inability to do something about it. Because in addition to being highly tolerant of pain, I also have the martyr gene, so likely I could work through it.
Pulling? Hips hurt? Alignment off? Take yoga.
Feeling low energy? Try water aerobics.
Feeling out of sorts mentally? Depressed? Take a walk around the lake.

I am...supremely... capable of working through things.
Of faking it until I make it.
Of ignoring what ails and solving it with application and dedication.
Pitting myself against it.

Instead I am...stuck. And I'm angry and frustrated about it and am unable to articulate it.
Because if I try to, I get "Oh but it could be worse" or "Oh but at least you aren't on bedrest" or 'oh but it will all be worth it"
Thank you.
Thank you very much.
Because, by golly, those things hadn't occured to me.

Here's what HAS occured to me though.
I'm stuck. I have time, money, my health, beautiful spring days, a wonderful daughter, a fantastic husband. I have a full house, in poker as well as literal terms. I am lucky. I am able to move around somewhat, as compared to my prior pregnancy, and I have, at my disposal, all things practical, a few things lavish, and myriad things unnecessary but comforting.



I get that I can't, I shouldn't, no one wants to hear me...complain.

But what also occurs to me is that life had become, was about to become easy. My pregnancy coincided with the beginning of preschool. I had two mornings off, for the first time in three years, and we had a cushion of cash that came from living in a small house, and NOT traveling for three years. This year we were planning a beach trip, local, or maybe a stay away, just we two. My weight was dropping,, we were starting to meet new "grown up" social friends, plans for Red Sox games, dinners, shows, movies together. I felt like I was rediscovering - if not actually discovering - the joys of married life. Sure our house is tiny, but we fixed the porches, and we were going to make do, and make do well.

 And maybe it wouldn't suck so bad if I hadn't always delayed gratification. Someday. Someday I'll meet someone, someday I'll go to this game, have this vacation, have this drink, enjoy this life. But I didn't up until now. I worked - I grinded - through my 20s, and then my 30s. I stayed in long houred jobs and worse relationships, waiting for someday. And yes, I lived a virtuous - at least financially - life. Never wasting, never excessive - but finally, FINALLY, this was to be our time. We were finally going to get to be kids again. The "kids" we weren't.

And whoosh. Gone.
And not because I'm pregnant. Because pregnant people do things. Pregnant people vacation, go to games, out to dinner, garde, they do to the gym. Hell, pregnant people run marathons.

Just not THIS pregnant person.
Because I can't.
I am Not Allowed to.

Something that I can't get no satisfaction for expressing.
It's not "I feel like shit because I hurt"
which I do.

It's "I feel like shit because I hurt but also because a full calendar year of my life is passing, a year I can never get back, a year I delayed forever, that I'm not getting any younger and that I am crippled, hobbled, incapacitated. That I cannot walk through a mall, through a park, to the beach - without worrying what I can and cannot stop to pick up. That this looming threat is over me, while my pent up wishes are under me and the middle ground is to wait. And be jealous, and sad, of the world moving around me. That the park poses threats, that driving to visit a friend is out of the question and that my life is measured in weekly doctors appointments."

Do I know it's not cancer? Yes, thank you.
Do I realize I'm crying over a Red Sox game and a missed opportunity to host a yardsale? Yes, I do.
But do YOU realize that the day I'm allowed a reprieve from this shackle is the day that two people will be entrusted to my care and that I feel like I will never have my chance? Do you realize that I finally tasted freedom, the breeze of a seawind on my face and instead, for my troubles, I'll have 40 plus pounds to shake, a year of muscle mass to rebuild and two infants added to my lot. That another two years will be given in service to this?

Yes it was our choice and yes, it will...eventually... be the right one.
But I have a tough time sitting in a Courtyard Mariott off an industrial park while my husband goes to work, and I read a book, because my house is being painted, I can't go home, and there's no place I can "walk" to that I'm allowed to.

Am I the poor little rich girl here, yes. You betcha.

Do other people have real issues - money woes, hardships, illness, strife. Failed marriages, failed friendships, yes. And btw, I have those things too. But the point is this. What if you worked hard, really REALLY hard. What if you did sacrifice, pay the piper, pay your dues. What if you said no to a thousand chocolate cakes and two thousand vacations, and what if one day, it all became worth it. That you were standing on the pinacle, raising your arm to catch the golden ring, the holy grail, the jeweled chalice. What if it was all right there in front of you, your dream, your lifes work. What if you were RIGHT THERE, and suddenly, someone came behind you and kicked you down a hill. Not a huge hill, not one you hadn't climbed, but a hill nonethe less, a hill so shallow that you could still see the clouds, you could still see the flag waving - and then that someone, that ass kicker, said to you - you have to wait a year before you can climb again. You can see it, you can taste it, you are capable of reaching it.. but if you take one false step between now and then, you will have everything taken away from you.

That, my friend, is depressing.
And miserable.