Umm. Look. Umm. I need to clarify something. It may be my own silly fault for being snarky about Ms Squeaky the Slightly Pregnant Over-Sharer in the last post. But still: –
I am very glad people like reading my blog, and very flattered, but, wishing miscarriages on people, even unbelievably shrill and over-excited skinny women who have been pregnant for, ohh, seventeen seconds? Not on. Sorry. I am sure you meant well and were empathising with me, but I’ve recently had a miscarriage myself and it (the miscarriage) was so fucking horrible and sad. Your comment, dear Megnath, was rather a jab in the solar plexus. I know you didn’t mean it to be. So I am very sorry to make your comment the start of a CLARIFICATION (and a librarian’s clarification is a Thing Not To Be Sneezed At (and yes, I do get like this at the dinner table too)).
- Pregnant women are the most beautiful things on God’s green earth. Yes, it is true that the sight of a pregnant woman will make me anything from mildly wistful to deeply morbid, depending on the weather, but, and this is important, pregnant women don’t make me miserable. They merely remind me that I am miserable, and that is hardly their fault.
- Yes, I do wish people were more restrained, less public, more thoughtful about their reproductive habits, at least in coffee shops. And I worry, yes, really, worry, that the naive excitable ones will get smacked down (as well as the old stabby-stabby to the heart thing because I am not one of them). It’s worrying about them that makes the stabby-stabby so very stabby. Don’t they know? One in four? The risk? Saints protect the poor idiots, but where have they been living all their lives, under a rock?
- But that naive excitement is so lovely. Just think, in a world where pregnancy is often a disaster, unplanned, unwanted, unloved, a happy one! And if I have to be smacked upside the head every day of my life till I die by happy excited squeaky and-we-weren’t-trying people, so be it. I’d rather that than ever wish my barrel of reproductive crap on anyone else.
- So, please, by all means wish that Ms Squeaky and her infuriating ilk learns that parenting can be Rather Hard, and wish that she gets a clue and some perspective on other people’s lives, and also some manners, because there is never never any good reason to talk about your vajaja in your Outdoor Voice in a freaking coffee shop. And snark and bitching is the very air I breathe, or, at least, caffeine I thrive on. But no wishing actual disasters on others, please. Not on my blog. I don’t really like being made to cry before breakfast.
None of the above self-rightous trumpeting changes the fact that it can be very painful to have my poor face rubbed in other people’s pregnancies. Heigh ho.
1000th commentator, I will talk about you tomorrow. For I know who you are, and you are a 24-carat sweetheart, and you should have your own happy post.
Edited to add: You know, I was going to make this post a LOT longer, originally. But then I felt a migraine coming on (another one! WTF? And also, I really must go and see the GP about this) and had to go find my horse-pills and maybe drool and walk into things for a while. Horse-pills worked quite well this time, thank you, but inability to see much all across one side of field of vision fucking annoying. Anyway. Better now. And I’m eating chocolate ice-cream, which I’d highly recommend to all present as a most soothing activity.
Points I wish to add:
- Firstly, everyone reading this go hug Megnath right now. OK? Big hugs. And I am so very very sorry.
- I want to apologise to Megnath for taking her to task. I can cheerfully blame it on the incipient migraine, but that would be snivelly of me. I should have noticed that her original remark was made from a place of great sadness and bitterness, and instead I took it to heart and got wound up and thought about ME ME ME. ME! MEMEMEMEME! and how I felt. I am sorry. Please stay.
- In my defense (I snivelled at last), I never said anyone was a bad person and I did acknowledge that people meant well etc. I really did. Look above -see? And I stand by that. This was about why I can’t cope very well with certain reactions, and not about any given person being bad.
- To clarify the clarification, I was, inadvertantly, the annoying person ‘revealing’ in public, back in the month of May. I was less than six weeks pregnant. I was in a café, a very busy one, and I was with a friend, and I took a swig of coffee without thinking, and I promptly threw up in my mouth, with all the resultant choking and grimacing and trying to swallow it back again without gagging (not successful), and that got everyone’s attention, most of all my friend’s and he was deeply worried about me and so I had to explain I was, err, you know, p-word, only I had to shout a little because the café was noisy and he kept saying ‘what? Sorry? Didn’t catch that…’ And if an infertile and sad person had been anywhere in ear-shot (and they might well have been, because 1 in 10 couples etc.), I would have royally fucked them off. And then I started bleeding again, so.
- In my family, experiencing Bad Sad Things does not make a person even so much as a smidgeon more compassionate. In fact, they tend to use their Bad Sad Thing as an ace in the giant eternal family game of One-Down-Man-Ship, and get really narked if you try to offer any insights along the ‘when that happened to me…’ line. So I am very deeply in the habit of not wishing a taste of crap on bloody annoying self-centred people, as I am pretty sure it makes them even more annoying and self-centred and now you’re not even allowed to slap them upside the head anymore. I’d rather they got no aces at all ever (and I keep all the slapping privileges). So I have a certain aversion to the idea of wishing my crap on others for, actually, selfish ME KEEP ACES, thank you, reasons.
- But God, I wish there was a sure fire way of spreading compassion and thoughtfulness among the populace. I think the bitter desire to have someone go through the same crap as you is born out the agony of realising so very, very many people just don’t give a fuck. And that hurts. More than words can adequately express. It’s not about wanting them to suffer, so much as wanting them to damn well understand, and have some respect, and if the only way they’re going to get it is by going through it, well, we’re all human enough to think of it sometimes.
Right. And now, we shall all be friends. Group hug. I insist.