I feel the same way when I read a novel, and if it gets to be stressful I go ahead and read the last page because I like to know that it all ends up being ok.
So I'm going cheat a little and go back to the reason why this blog is called 'Stranded in the Suburbs' and not 'Living large in Paris with my Italian Lover'
The reason is this;
Or rather the idea of him, you see no matter what dreams I had for my life, he was always there. It was never a question of if I would have a baby but when which is strange because I have no younger siblings, never babysat or wanted to but I knew that I was going to be a mother.
So I went through high school & university finding tons of Mr. Wrongs, finally finding my Mr. Right, dating, practically forcing him to marry me (we'll save that story for another day) starting a a fancy-shmancy career and finding I was actually pretty kick-ass at it and settling into the suburbs.
So Mr. Right and I settled into newlywed life full of trips to Home Depot, leisurely brunches and other smug married activities. Once we finally decided to ditch the protection and start planning I assumed that we would take a couple of months to get pregnant and bam instant family. I bet you can see where this is going right?
Months passed and......nothing. I combed message boards and the internet looking for a solution, ordered anything that seemed remotely helpful, peed on countless ovulation strips, ate tons of pineapple (before ovulation only!) avoided yams, assumed extremely unattractive positions after sex, threw away all of Mr. Right's briefs, even checked my cervical mucous daily (yes it is as gross as it sounds) and .......nothing.
Finally we visited the fertility clinic where I subjected myself to countless "trans-vaginal examinations" at 6am no less administered by well-meaning yet brutally efficient eastern European Ultrasound techs. I often left these appointments feeling oddly like I had just had a very bad date where one of the top fertility doctors in the country told us that I had a "hostile" cervix.
Hostile? Well of course it's hostile it has spent the past 20 years trying to keep sperm away from my uterus so that I could continue to sip martinis and climb the corporate ladder! The doctor then explained that we could ambush my cervix and get all the little Mr. Right's into my uterus. So we forked over our hard earned money and trans-vagd my way into stirrups discussing the MD's forthcoming Argentinean vacation while my DH slunk his way home after making a deposit but I digress.
Thankfully it worked and 41.5 weeks later I found myself the tired, 4th degree torn mother of a 9lb 1 oz baby boy Max who according to the nurses "had the perfect C-section slash in the 99th percentile for circumference head" yet which would have been great but I DIDN'T HAVE A C-SECTION! You know what I am getting at right?
So motherhood hit me like a ton of bricks and after a year spent in the horrible throes of PPD I returned to work to find that my employer assumed that I had pushed my brain and not a baby out of my vagina. I was given a lower profile position in favour of a man and I was hell-bent on proving that having a baby wouldn't slow me down.....well truthfully for me it did I left my heart and brain at home with Max and after 9 months of doing laundry at midnight, conference calls in the car, & daycare dashes I walked into my boss' office and.....quit.
So now it has been 3 months since that day and I am still trying to decide if it was the best thing that has ever happened to me or the biggest mistake of my life.
This blog will be my poor womans therapy/journal as I try to figure out what I am going to do for the rest of my life and make sure Max doesn't hate me in the process.
So if anyone is out there, please let me know that it will all be ok?
As John Lennon said "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay it's not the end"
Right? Right.
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