2/27/2005

Because I can

My emotions have been getting the better of me the last few days. On the way to a family dinner last night we were listening to one of my favourite Johnny Cash CDs and I started to cry, with my running makeup leaving me looking like a demented clown. What is there to cry about on a Johnny Cash CD? Yes, Johnny Cash is dead. This makes me sad. When I hear "Hurt" or see the video, this makes me sad. Thinking of the song or video makes me sad. I can't win.

The Dude is coping well with my outbursts, which range from spontaneous tears to glaring daggers at him when he asks the very charged question, "What would you like to drink with dinner?" I'm trying to supress the bitch, but it's not working too well. In order to release some of my frustration and pent-up hostility, I'm going to air recent grievances. I have nowhere else to do it, so I'm afraid you, dear readers, must suffer.

1) Smug Fertiles that think I want to hear about every single thing their darling offspring does in life. I don't. I no more want to hear about how precious Kayleigh has learned how to say "hello" in Spanish than I want to be probed by GLCP at 8 in the morning. I don't care about your child. Why can't adults just have adult conversations without children being a constant presence in the conversation? This is not because I am infertile. I don't like other peoples' children enough to invest any sort of emotion into then wishing I had one of my own based on their cutesy stories. I just want to carry on a conversation without having to act interested in the goings-on of an 8 year old. Tip: If Smug Fertiles engage you in this sort of discussion, counter it with mentions of your pet, which I know can often be regarded as children. I often quell a Child Bore discussion by talking voluminously about my beloved canary. Their eyes glaze over much like mine do when I have to sit through their child-focused ramblings. It's only fair.

2) My mother-in-law. A few days ago I wrote quite a lengthy post on my mother's impending visit. Today, whilst discussing the visit, my MIL proceeded to slag off my Mom for no apparent reason. My Mom recently sold her horse because she could no longer devote enough time to him. MIL says, "I don't see why she got a horse in the first place. It's not as if she doesn't have enough pets at the house anyway. What was she going to do with a horse?" Uh, ride it?

My Mom is also looking to sell her house so she can downsize and manage the space more easily. However, she seems to be obsessed with the idea of having a rambling old Victorian, so she keeps looking at houses much larger than her current one. To this my MIL opined, "Why would she get a bigger house when she can't even manage the one she has? It's not as if housework is a priority of hers." Right. Let us just say that MIL has met my Mom three times and visited her house once for about a week and a half. MIL is not an animal lover, whereas my Mom is. MIL is a lifelong housewife that spends most of her week cleaning her house, and my Mom chose to put her education and career before housework. To each their own is not a concept my MIL is familiar with. Not only that, but for god's sake you vicious old bat, keep these feelings to yourself! It's one thing for me to pick on my Mom, but I cannot stand it when other people feel as if they can criticise members of my family.

3) IUIs. Seriously, do these things ever fucking work? Browsing the host of infertility blogs I love, I can't remember the last IUI that actually was successful. You just can't help feel that you go through all of this emotional and physical effort for nothing.

Ok, I'm finished for now. Bring on Monday.

5 comments:

Suz said...

Excellent rant and well deserved, I believe, on all counts. I hope things are better in the coming week and that you prove everyone wrong on those IUI's.

DeadBug said...

OK, I know they didn't work for me, but I do know two people for whom IUI's did the trick. Hoping that this is your cycle.

I am now thanking my lucky supernovas that my MIL is so delightful. My mother may be a whack job, but my MIL is 98 pounds of non-judgmental wonderfulness.

--Bugs

Orodemniades said...

Heh heh. Have you noticed that British homemakers appear to be completely obsessed with the state of their house? Me, I'm in the 'just ignore the mess - I do' category of house cleaning.

Gods know I never kept the house clean when I was unemployed. I had much more important things to do with my time. Like finish that novel. (I did, too). And go to classes.

Molly said...

Not cool of your mother-in-law. She would have gotten a mighty icy stare from me for that one. In my mind, it sounds especially nasty when imagined in an English accent. Not cool. How did The Dude react to this?

Anonymous said...

Oh yes, I know plenty of people IUIs worked on, some on the first try. I, however, have never been one of them. 7 IUIs later and well...you know. Squat, diddly. My RE started wearing a shiny new bauble around the time of the 6th one. So happy that she remembered my manners for me and bought herself a nice present for all the money I threw her way.

Your MIL ragging on your mom = not cool.

Emily
scrambledeggs