Thursday, July 1, 2010

A new acronym

We are all agreed on my love of acronyms, yes?

FYI, they're OTT and I refuse to keep that on the DL or the QT.

Oh, please, I am not going there again. I don't have the energy. I have never been this tired in my entire life...and that includes the time I stayed up with my best friend in Year 8 for THE ENTIRE NIGHT to witness the exact moment when the street lights were switched off.


Wow, did you feel that? Get me Bruce Willis and Liv Tyler into emergency sequel talks, stat, Armageddon is back. And she's angry.

That's right: that was the very last pregnant woman complaining of tiredness the world could take. Apparently, the earth's core is pre-programmed to crack and erupt if a certain pre-determined quota of whingeing pregnant women is reached. Me back there, just then talking about being (whisper...tired) pushed the planet past its tipping point. So, go home to your loved ones, people...this is your last day on Earth.

Anyway, I am not going to go there with the moaning about the dead weights on my eyelids. Not tonight, I am buggered. Oh shit! I went there, didn't I?

Look, I am vainly trying to get back to the point of this post. What's it called again? Right...a new acronym.


Any ideas? Let me shed some of that dawn street light on the subject for you.

Fertility Guilt.

Akin to survivor's guilt, but not the initials of that dimwit played by Tom Hanks in that atrocious movie. (Sorry Robin Wright, I love you despite your choice of husband, but that really was a bad flick.)

So, I am pregnant. I am elated and a thousand other things right now. I also feel some guilt. Guilt when telling my new little e-community peeps who are still clinging white-knuckled to the TTC rollercoaster, one many have been on for longer than my two-year-old has been alive. Guilt when posting an "I'm pregnant" comment on a TTC support group over at Aussie Mummy Bloggers. Part of me felt heartless doing that. I am sorry if I caused anyone any pain. Or jealousy. Of course, that was never my intention.

Look, I was raised Catholic - we got guilt covered. But I know that I am someone who would feel twinges of jealousy while starting to hum absent-mindedly "What About Me?" had I received similar news.

Isn't that atrocious. But it's the truth. Let me tell you, my over-arching emotion would be genuine joy for anyone who gets good baby-growing news. No doubt. But there would be twinges of some negative stuff too, I won't lie.

But it's like the way I feel about comparing development milestones in your kids. There is no point twisting yourself in knots if your toddler has not mastered toilet training, say, as quickly as "everyone else" you know: they all get there in the end. So too, will many of you reading this. I cannot know it will happen for all of you, no one knows that. But I do know that I have never laughed as much as I have these past few weeks, I have never jumped on Jay for random cuddles as often I have in recent times and I have never felt as loved as I have by all those physically and electronically around me...and I know that helped.

The good stuff. Focus on it. Use it, trust and try to let go. Alright, somebody stop me before I use the phrase "at the end of the day..."

May I please leave you with today's random observation from me.
Those backwards signs on the front of cars that belong to a business. You know the ones. Stickers that spell out words, but they are stuck on in reverse.

"Jokes" like this may seem harmless, but a 2009 NSBP* study found they are actually responsible for extending dyslexics' admission times to psychiatric wards by an average of 13.9months.

Why do you only ever see them the wrong way around? When do you ever see them in your rear view mirror, at which point, you are stunned and amazed at their twisty-reversy genius? Answer? Never. You only ever see them on the front of a car on the other side of the road coming towards you. Then you almost have an accident staring at the ridiculous letter formations trying to activate a deep, dark recess of your brain to actually decipher what the hell it says. It's the same dark recess that was particularly active during your tweens when such astounding items as invisible ink (imagination/perception), magic sand (spatial engineering) and elastics (physics/fractions/geometry) were commonplace in daily life. I saw one this morning, it was "CINAHCEM ELIBOM". I was like "whaaaaa?" as I craned my neck to catch it as it went past. Stupid thing was, I looked in my rear view mirror to get a better look - at the BACK of the car. I actually did that. Of course, there was nothing there. Haha, isn't that ridiculous? Alanis should so have written about that instead of freaking fly-streaked chardonnay.

*National Society for Bullshit Prevention

1 comment:

  1. Well I can only speak for myself when I say this, but 'Meh, you're fine'. We're all on there sharing our hopes, some of us are bound to succeed, some not (well not right away). Hopefully we'll all get there in the end.

    PS. you don't know tired yet... :-)