I dream a lot. Really vivid, amazing dreams. Most of them are even while I'm asleep.
Last night I dreamed that I was on a game show. The only game show I would ever willingly participate in would be Jeopardy (and I would SMOKE YOU ALEX TREBECK because I am a fount of completely useless trivia), but this wasn't like that at all. It was a really awful one like that terrible Moment of Truth program where lives were destroyed or whatever. The attractive host with very nice teeth asked me:
"What is your worst fear?"
I have a lot of worst fears. If you asked me that sitting here right now I would probably say, "Birds!" and then you would laugh because I really hate birds.
If you asked me and I was in a serious mood, which almost never happens, I would say, "That I'm not a good mother". Late at night I worry about the genetic nightmare I thrust upon those two. I worry about how very much I laugh when they say "douchebag". I worry about middle school and how I will pay for college. I stress, a lot, about how someone as messed up as I am can continue to raise such happy, well-adjusted people. Because, by some miracle of God, they totally are.
I also fear I'm not a good writer. I fear I am not much of a wife. I fear that I'll never be happy staying in one place for very long and that my wanderlust will mess up everyone around me. I fear poverty. And since I'm on a roll? The thought of dying and leaving my kids behind scares the living daylights out of me.
I didn't say any of those though. What I said to Mr. Shiny Nice Teeth was:
"I'm afraid of being pregnant."
The studio audience gasped and the dramatic DUM, DUM, DAAAAAAAAAAH! music played. Cut to commercial and I woke up feeling bewildered.
I can't get pregnant. I believe that it was a miracle (and I don't use that word lightly, honestly, even though I've used it twice in this post) that I ever got pregnant with the Boy One and the Girl One way back in 1997. I wasn't supposed to. I lucked out, got two in one shot, and that was it.
Only it wasn't it. It's never been it for me.
Now, I'm thirty-four and I'm kind of over thinking about it. My kids are twelve next month. Finances have sucked for about a year (although they have gotten a whole lot better in the past few months and seem to be on an upswing now, thanks for asking). I live in a little house, I work a whole lot of hours doing a whole lot of things, and sleep about twenty minutes (lying) as it is.
It's at the point that I honestly, honestly cannot even imagine having another child.
Everyone I know is pregnant and the more I hear about throwing up and stretch marks and the actual having to give birth stuff? Makes me wonder if maybe I'm not enough of a woman to do it all again. That maybe, just maybe, even though I get burned by those women who think I'm awful because I loved my c-section and didn't breast feed (I had no milk, but that certainly doesn't matter to them. If I had just TRIED HARDER then I could have magically produced it I guess) and even though I had to give birth completely alone without anyone even to hold my hand, maybe it was how it was supposed to be for me. That maybe even though my sperm donor walked out on me when I was pregnant and it was a really, really horrible tragic time in my life, and the thought of having to go through all of that again, even if at the end I end up with something really beautiful, is really freaking scary.
The thought of being pregnant absolutely terrifies me.
Which, some may argue, is why I haven't been able to get pregnant.
I don't think it's all that simple really. Biologically there are issues. Always have been. There have been a hundred million reasons along the way to wait or to think it over again or to just stop and say, "This isn't right".
But maybe, just maybe, I've not really been that open to it all along. Because being pregnant is really freaking scary to me. In my life it's not been a fun, happy time. It's been a miserable, sad, horrible time. It took me a lot of years to decide that I did want more kids just because the whole "getting them into this world" thing really blew.
But having them in this world? My goodness. There is nothing better.
It feels really weird admitting that. It doesn't make anything change and I can't imagine it ever will, but it feels so, so strange to put those words out. Because, clearly, I need to be an even weirder girl than I already am.
Maybe tomorrow I'll dream about my butt being smaller. That one seems way less complicated.