This blogs has several drafts.
It’s a difficult subject to talk about.
Every time I leave the house I see a pregnant woman.
It’s stings in a way. Not necessarily out of envy, but fear.
Fear about becoming a mother.
Not fear about my capacity to love, but fear about my physical ability to be pregnant and raise a child.
I mean really, there are days when I am unable to care for myself properly.
You can’t just “be sick” as a parent. I hardly remember my mom being sick as a kid. I am sure it happened but I don’t remember it. She and I were probably sick at the same time and she still cared for me. Was still tender. Able. Strong. She never crumbled onto the floor in a mess of snot, clutching… grasping to anything she could find to stop the world from spinning.
Can I really be a mother?
First step is getting off my medications. Not only my benzo, but my diuretic. The purpose of the diuretic is given because it assists in getting rid of excess fluid in the body. It keeps some of my symptoms at bay.
Second step is getting pregnancy. Sounds fun right? Terrifying for me. Morning sickness… potential blood pressure issues when my diuretic has suppressed my blood pressure for so long. Not being able to take my benzo.
Third step is being a mother. My disease won’t go away because I have a child to care for. What if I can’t physically do it?
There are days when I am so fatigued I can’t even speak accurately. There are days when the anxiety and depression are so heavy I can’t see through the darkness.
When I have a child I can’t have excuses. I can’t not wake up in the middle of the night. I can’t forget to feed, bathe, nurture them.
I can’t be zonked out on narcotics.
Again, it’s not about capacity, it’s about physical ability.
I am going to push publish on this blog. I’ve been working on it for months. Because it’s hard. It’s painful. It’s part of my reality. It’s a jagged reminder of how my life is different. How I can’t just make a knee jerk decision. Everything must be plotted out. Everything needs to be planned.