My anxiety is up.
My therapist, psychologist and OBGYN worked with me through my weaning from medication this past fall. I wasn’t having panic attacks anymore and while I was still experiencing anxiety on occasion, I wasn’t dealing with it by employing prior poor coping mechanisms. I was no long paralyzed by fear. All three were also suspicious of how those medicines were reacting with my body as a whole so we did a slow wean. I’ve been fine.
I have peaks of anxiety as visits near or when other stressful events take place: like for my solo on Christmas Eve. The only panic attack I’ve had since weaning was when I found out that I had been called some not-so-nice names by a news blog in relation to the MSNBC article. TheHusbandMan was a support through that attack and evening and I woke the next morning feeling somewhat down but not overwhelmed with paralyzing fear. But, it’s rising.
Perhaps it’s just because we’re planning a visit and I always get caught up in my anxiety wave during these times. But that’s still three weeks away. I’m pretty sure of the underlying reason but I don’t know the underlying reason FOR the underlying reason.
TheHusbandMan and I have finally moved past simply talking about trying to conceive. So much more than when we made the decision to try for what resulted in BigBrother, my nerves are somewhat frayed.
First of all, this is our first attempt at trying since our miscarriage last summer. I have this newfound fear that my body no longer knows how to carry a pregnancy. I worry that any successful attempts at creating life will only result in more loss. I try not to think about it… but brains have a funny way of worrying whether we want them to or not.
Then add in the fact, should we actually carry to term and deliver a healthy little one, this child will be the last addition to our family. This is where it’s tied deeply into the adoption loss. The whole “girl issue.” When we conceived BigBrother, I just wanted a healthy baby. I didn’t care the gender. I had my worries about either gender, for their own reasons, but the end result was that I just wanted a healthy child. Now I’m faced with a lot of finality.
If we don’t have a girl: that’s it. Fact will be fact in that I “gave up” my only chance at actively mothering a little girl. At the same time, if we are blessed with a little girl, I’m just absolutely panicked as to how that will make me feel, how that will make the Munchkin feel and what the heck to do with a girl! Granted, I’m sure I’d figure out what to “do” with a baby girl but leftover fears of the poor mother-daughter relationships that travel down my maternal line are somewhat daunting. I don’t want that for any of my daughters; not in the relationship I have with the Munchkin and not in any possible relationships I have with any possible daughters that I will be blessed to raise.
I was dumbfounded at how BigBrother’s presence brought the emotions of grief and loss bubbling to the surface. Feelings I didn’t know that I had repressed. Feelings I thought that I had “dealt with,” naively thinking that grief is a passing phase in one’s life. In fact, I am grateful that he came about when he did as facing some of those emotions have helped me better appreciate my daughter and her parents. But, at the same time, he was a boy. (Well, he still is, of course.) Would a daughter be so much worse? Or would it be healing? Or or or or or or?
There are so many unknowns.
Further fear that my body may not be appropriately doing womanly functions only help to raise my anxiety level. To the point where I think, “Hmm, maybe a pill wouldn’t hurt tonight,” only to be awash in the fear that maybe I did actually ovulate this month and maybe I actually already am carrying this new little life in my body and therefore I shouldn’t be taking anything that could hinder development. Which then makes me think, “Oh, crap, should I stop using that one face wash because it contains benzoyl peroxide?!” And then I start in with all of my typical pregnancy anxiety which is attached to my kidney function. “Oh, crap! I should be drinking my eight jugs of water and cutting back on salt and OMG!”
Thankfully, spring is springing (minus this coming weekend, apparently, with snow predicted) and I’ve been able to spend time outdoors. Fresh air is good for the soul.
This post is completely disjointed but a rare glimpse into the heart of certain matters in my life. I often have up a shield of strength. Truth is: all of this, adoption and parenting and fertility and all of it, scares the living daylights out of me. I try to make the right decisions. I try to do what is right for the Munchkin, for BigBrother, for TheHusbandMan and I. I don’t know that any of it truly IS right. I weigh pros and cons. I pray. I hope. I wish.
And in the end, I’m just a scared mother trying to do what she thinks/hopes/wishes/prays is right.