Well. I wasn’t expecting that.
Saw the extra appendage not even a couple of minutes into the scan. Upon having it confirmed the proceedings had to be paused while I sobbed uncontrollably for a couple of minutes and tried to compose myself.
It is now coming up to noon and I’m still stuck in a cycle of weeping, sobbing and ugly crying.
No longer crying because of the disappointment of finding out it is a boy after trying so desperately and for so long for a girl. I am crying because my deepest, darkest fears of being a complete fucking asshole are staring me in the face. With the luxury of wallowing over this very trivial matter, and reacting in this completely unreasonable and terrible way, I am left with a very jagged pill to swallow indeed. I have stopped my day – because I have the support network and resources to do this (while most people do not) and am bed ridden with grief and shame over the excellent results of an anatomy scan which show that this child is absolutely thriving and I should be consumed with happiness, yet am taking an utterly Veruca Salt approach to my reaction to this event instead.
The world around me is full of people struggling. Couples are stuck in a cycle of trying to conceive, and women who are carrying on with unplanned pregnancies and have no idea how they are going to provide for the child and themselves, and parents nursing terminally or chronically ill children. Meanwhile, this baby is thriving and will certainly bring joy to our, and many other people’s lives. Everything I need and want is at my disposal, and I am angry and upset at myself for not successfully playing God and being able to affect the gender of the life inside me. I. Am. Completely. Ashamed.
Not sure if I am making a terrible mistake documenting all of this publicly and pouring my heart out online the way I do.
I assume that once this total meltdown passes, I’ll look back on how hormonal, irrational and dramatic I am being and wish I could erase my confession.
And if and when this child arrives, I do not want him to think for a moment that he is not Loved and welcome in his mother’s heart and life. And I certainly do not want him to carry around for all of his days the stigma of his mamma desperately wishing he were a girl. There is a reason for everything, and the reason I have been sobbing uncontrollably, screaming, and throwing things across the room is that I am a very spoiled control freak. And admitting that, and facing that terrible side of me is making it difficult to breath.
Tomorrow I’ll get up. I’ll feel suitably embarrassed, and I will carry on with the many things that need doing. The invitations that should have made it out last week, the client work that I swore I’d make a start on a fortnight ago, the planning, the packing, the booking of flights and cars for the many “pinch me, I must be dreaming” adventures that lay ahead… it will all get done and I will continue to live in my ivory fucking tower where precious little is ever denied me, and I’ll continue to have the luxury of blowing an absolute gasket when things don’t work out the way I want them to.
It is perfectly okay to hate me a little (or a lot) after reading this.
I certainly do.
Hoping to be back on track and a little less cray cray tomorrow.