Wednesday, April 05, 2006

A Gradual Exile

For the past month and a half I have experienced my own gradual exile into what seems to become a deeper, less transparent night. In all of my stories, my candor, my relationships with those of you I know I have never denied my depression its free roam. The same honesty that affords my ability to relay some horrifying fart story (soon to follow) forces me to consider sharing every night I have considered cutting this child out myself for comforts sake.




Pregnancy, like love and success, do not block the transmitters in the brain that tell you maybe you should consider driving your truck off a cliff. One of these wonderful things may, in the long run, become the reason you dont take that plunge, but thats not because the thought
doesn't cross your mind.



My depression has been along for this whole 9 month ride. Sometimes for weeks at a time it was as if I was still on Prozac, functioning like a normal person with pregnancy symptoms no stronger than a hint of the flu. At other times I locked myself in bathroom stalls, sat in my car, and hid in my bedroom before Dan got home crying and slitting my imaginary wrists in some imaginary world where that was still an option. But I have seen death during this pregnancy, and it will not allow me to glorify its purpose. Depression without suicidal tendencies is just a very deep sad place of immobility.



Tonight I am in a new house, a new life. My husband and my dog are asleep in the living room because in my new house, in my new life, there is an unbearable cat piss odor in our master bedroom. Cable will not be turned on until Tuesday. The internet will be here Thursday, despite my setting it up to have been transferred over three weeks ago. My
Netflix, all but Pumpkin, have been lost in the move. I would sooner gnaw off one of my swollen feet at the ankle than give Pumpkin the privilege of getting anywhere near my DVD player again.



Pumpkin was Dan's pick. He wanted out 30 minutes into it, but I held my ground, thinking if I punished him by the hand of his own choice this would further enforce for him, subconsciously, that I am right when I say that his taste is terrible and that we should always rent movies of my choosing. This plan was set into motion before I learned that this piece of crap movie was over TWO HOURS long. Well, we finished it, with Dan bitching and begging for mercy every 15 minutes after the first half hour, and in the end I had fought so hard to see this movie through I ended up taking credit for the pick all together and no lesson was
learned.



Now, it is 12:30 a.m. I am sweating, drinking hot milk, and trying to catch my breath. While it has been some time that the baby has preferred I not sleep, as of this past week and a half she has entered a slew of new demands.



COHEN'S DEMANDS



NO breathing in your sleep.



NO laying down.



NO leaning.



NO sitting on anything lower than 2 feet off the ground without expecting a horrifically loud fart to accompany you when you attempt to stand.



GET assistance by the way, you wont be able to get up alone and you're not going to mortify yourself with these farts!



NO walking for longer than 2 minutes.



NO scratching the itchy belly.



NO ice packs on the belly.



NO touching of the breast to anything unless you want to leave a milk stain in your wake.



ABSOLUTELY NONE of the activities that you have heard will help induce labor.



NO sex.



NO masturbation.



NO orgasm of any kind.



NO memory of sex or hope of ever seeing it again.



NO feeling appealing.



NO glowing, only turning red and bursting into hot flashes and cold sweats.



NO stretching.



NO spicy food.



NO more ankle bones for you, you only took them for granted anyway.



NO more long sexy fingers, just sausages plugged into the ends of your spam hands.



NO use keeping that bikini because I have covered your belly in stretch marks.



NO sense of humor, no one is laughing with you, they are all laughing at you because you are so fat and crazy and sad and annoying and self-loathing.



NO going for more than 20 minutes without pissing, even if you just pissed 10 minutes ago.



NO more conversation about anything that is not related to baby.



NO visitors.



NO trips.



NO work.



NO curl in your hair.



NO more myspace tonight your punishment - go to bed and don't breathe.

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