We humans believe we are self-aware. At least middle-class Midwesterners do. We pride ourselves on how we see things as they are. We may apologize for not having spare change for the panhandlers, but we understand that giving them a couple bucks won’t solve any of their problems (we instead have a great program to reduce homelessness).
Last night after a trip to the dog park we went out with some friends, one of whom was visiting from out of town. Let’s call her BabyMama. She gets that name because I think that’s all she enjoys about her life, that she has a child. She hates her job, and is ambivalent about her husband and doesn’t seem to have any hobbies.
MtnDew has been friends with BabyMama since high school. He is the GodFather of her son (known henceforth as GodSon). BabyMama married young. She and BabyDaddy had their son four years ago. GodSon is very towheaded and is autistic. He has problems communicating and has been going to preschool for a number of years as part of his individual education plan. BabyMama is thankfully very knowledgeable about early childhood education and working with autistic children. From a very early age she has coached him on how to express himself and tell how others are feeling.
Anyway, apparently she wants another kid. In her quest to get another kid she has gone off of her antidepressants. Latte made some keen observations about BabyMama’s behavior and how depression factored into it. When Latte needed her meds adjusted (but didn’t want to get it done for a reason I’m ~still~ not entirely sure of), she had many of the same problems (being inconsiderate, etc). Anyway, BabyMama is back on her way to GodSon and BabyDaddy. From what I’ve heard she has enough health problems that make another kid unlikely. And from what I’ve read by another woman who suffers from depression, antidepressants aren’t the worst thing ever during pregnancy (uncontrolled depression can be worse).
About kids, Latte said something that’s giving me (false) hope about us having our own kids. She mentioned that she felt that MtnDew would enjoy being a father. If you could see him and how he fauns over GodSon, I’m sure everyone who reads this blog would agree with her. He talks about every conversation they have for months afterwords. 🙂 He’s not in a position to adopt right now, and certainly has no money for surrogacy. He’s single and working a job that is good enough for now, but not what he wants to do for the rest of his life. I’m happy for him getting the condo, but he probably would do best at parenting if it was a tag-team effort.
Anyway, I still have to wait until July to talk about kids with Latte again, but with how things are going with us, I think it’ll go well then. 🙂 Before her medicine was adjusted, she was dead-set that we didn’t need couples therapy, that I should just get therapy to deal with everything, now she has done a 180 and says that she wants to get therapy and see if that resolves things before we commit to going into couples therapy. (I know I’m not perfect, I certainly don’t think that all of the problems in our relationship have to do with me, but I don’t do well in therapy, I do better writing to come to terms with things. I’m just that person and that’s okay.)
Anyway, life is good. It is very good. I should probably start running again. I am a horrible person, and although Latte told me that she doesn’t want me to carry, I still kind of want to get ready to be able to. That means getting in shape so pregnancy doesn’t kick my butt completely. Or at least so I worry less about it doing so. Of course this is all very presumptuous. I feel compelled to say that I would not ever put myself on the path to gestational motherhood without Latte being 100% on board. Also, I shouldn’t assume I’m fertile. I noticed the other day I had a crazy short cycle back in July when I switched jobs. If there’s one thing reading blogs has taught me it is that you rarely know that you’re infertile until you start trying and fail a heartbreaking number of times. Anyway, I need to run errands so I should get going.