an iud baby
no I did not mess up the acronym
One of my neighbors is trying to get pregnant again. This would be her third kid, if/when it happens, and every time I think about a third kid, I get hives.
I love using this phrase, “I get hives,” because it is so pleasingly dramatic. I don’t actually get hives, I just get metaphoric hives, as the bees inside my anxiety begin buzzing around and maybe build actual figurative hives, one hive per sub-topic about a third child that I fear would be the death of my mental health and well-being and most certainly the devastating demise of my pelvic floor.
But my neighbor is younger than me, by only a few yet seemingly critical years. I hate that I think this and I hate that it feels true, even though I am pretty sure newer science says it’s not that big of a deal.
I hate that every time I hear that a person close to me is pregnant [again], my first thought is mostly “yikes, why would they want to do that,” which I do always attempt to reframe into “good for her, not for me,” before of course being outwardly bubbly and excited and joyous and blah blah over another baby for people who desire one. I desperately want my friend to get pregnant because I know she wants another kid. I desperately do not want to get pregnant because of aforementioned fatalities. I desperately want to feel confident that it’s ok that I don’t want to have another kid and am so fearful of having another one.
Another neighbor is currently pregnant, due early summer. I see her almost every day because we share in-home childcare (ended since I first wrote this, more on the exciting news another time #sarcasm) so I’m witnessing her getting closer and closer to birth and life with 2 kids - 2 boys specifically, but it’s not about gender is it! I bite my tongue constantly when we chat, because what I valued most when I was in her spot was an ear and not a mouth, from friends and fellow mothers of more than singles. I wanted to be heard and validated. I didn’t want to hear how things improved, how it would all be ok in the end, and/or how it would be terrible, harder, etc etc. So I smile and/or offer up empathetic grimaces and nods and “I hear yous,” and inside I think to myself, I’m so glad it’s not me. I hope that it’s not me, ever again. And then I fight a little bit of guilt. And then I move on because some boy somewhere is screaming for a snack, probably.
One of C’s preschool teachers has 3 boys, one each in elementary, middle, and high school. We joke that her life is very smelly, and she has lots of good advice to offer me, another mother of boys who will become smelly and presumably busy with sports ball of various flavors. One day chatting with her, I don’t remember how it came up but something prompted me to share that we were done making children, and MP better get to the doc soon but in the meantime I had an IUD. She chuckles, and says “I did too, for my third.”
EXCUSE ME, WHAT.
Cue gigantic eyeballs on my face. “Eyes widening,” as they say. I was, in a word, speechless. She laughed at my reaction, because yeah, it’s not supposed to happen, and all (or, probably most) women with a reasonable expectation of non-pregnancy are shocked and appalled if they become so. OF COURSE she was thrilled with her third boy’s birth, loves him dearly, yada yada. All I could think was: holy shit. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Shit on a brick. Shit a brick? Fucking hell. And call MP immediately to drop f-bombs on him too and beg him to take action FORTHWITH because now my IUD feels like playing Russian roulette with egg fertilizing.
Just looked up some alternative phrases for “Russian roulette” because I’m not entirely sure that metaphor holds up, and talk about dramatic: “duel to the death,” “hazardous game,” “deadly confrontation.” YIKES. I can tell you, hopefully without edging too much into TMI territory, that sex became INTERESTING immediately following that conversation with the teacher. I want those spermies no where near me, and I don’t care how I avoid them but I WILL avoid them. LOL. LOL? *laughs nervously* let’s move on.
It’s so interesting to be surrounded by so many people doing so many different things with kids, and finding myself having less and less ready to talk about. When one is trying to get pregnant, it’s a thing that dominates the mind and thus is discussed constantly. When one IS pregnant, it’s a thing that dominates the mind (and body, psyche, hormones, life, snacks) and thus hard to avoid convo naturally heading back to that topic in a specific or roundabout way.
I am, not totally on purpose but also not totally by accident, surrounded by other cis women having had already experienced pregnancy, birth, acquisition of children in some fashion, exploring doing all of that a second, third, or maybe even fourth time, getting into discussions about how, when, and where do you “do it” [heh, we are 12 here] when all the other humans in your house are a) loud, b) extremely needy, c) maybe sleeping in your bed, d) maybe not sleeping at all. SO FUN. And yet! Pregnancy ABOUNDS. Babies are coming forth from wombs all over the place all of the time. I am writing this and thinking about how I don’t want to say the word “womb” and now I’ve written it twice, so must apologize to my future self.
But the further away I get from my own fresh babies and births, the less I have to say about it. The less I want to talk about it? The less it takes up space in my head. Maybe this is normal. Maybe it’s that literary device that describes when an argument is so obvious as to suggest it’s own conclusion, or is it a circular reasoning fallacy? This is getting too fancy. I just mean…is it obvious that everyone becomes less interested in diving deep into a specific topic the further away from that topic they get? As the topic relates to them less and less, over time or distance or whatever, they naturally desire to speak of it less? When I say it like that, it feels like…duh.
I want to be there for my gfs who are doing the temperature taking and ovulation kits and peeing every 5 minutes and struggling with toddler bedtimes and stressing over breastfeeding and wondering if another kid is what they want, what they should, what their body can handle. I can and do and will gladly share my opinions and support.
But, and.
The further away I get, the more I remember the moments that I felt the most comfort in my struggles. The moments where someone HEARD me say I hated breastfeeding. Where they HEARD me say I was going to throw this $600 wireless breastpump that was not covered by insurance out the mf window. They didn’t even need to say, “girl, me too.” They were just there with their ears, and their face. And their presence, which said, quite loudly actually - once I was ready to take it all in: we’re here, you’re not alone, you’re doing fine.
And it absolutely did not happen just like that, but here I am 5 years later, 7 kid-years later, 18 months of pregnancy behind me. And it is better, things are better, and I can see the work (read: love) I put into these damn kids is…idk, WORKING. They are little monsters but they are MY monsters and I MADE THEM FROM SCRATCH and I want to TOUCH THEIR CHEEKS CONSTANTLY and if they ask me for MAMA MAS MORE NACK. ONE MORE GD TIME.
That’s it. When I get done with posting this, rest assured I will be badgering MP once more to see if he made that doctor appointment yet. GIRLFRIEND WANTS NO ACCIDENTS. I do find it funny that I seem to be fearing pregnancy more now than I did when I was 16, being told that pregnancy will kill me, damn my soul, and boys would not be able to control themselves if I showed too much shoulder, so I better lock those knees together or else those big bad dicks were gonna come get me! LOL let’s not accidentally make this a purity culture piece.
kbyyyeeeeeeeee
PS to be totally and completely cheesy, how about y’all send this to your bestie neighbors who are maybe also, loudly or silently struggling with do-i or do-i-not pregnancy, children, breastfeeding, divorce, couples therapy, sharing nannies on the block because childcare in america sucks?! Ya. Forward away, gals!