Teeny-tiny violins

So, having turned 36 with a spectacular display of Not Pregnant, and having time on my hands (I have a few days off), I looked back over the past few years, achievements thereof, and had a complete and total fucking melt-down.

Which was jolly.

It’s hard to talk about this. I have a good marriage to a lovely man. I have a job (and I have been unemployed long enough and often enough to know exactly how excellent that is). I have a roof over my head, and enough money to pursue hobbies and eat well and go on occasional holidays. I have several university degrees. I have all my own limbs. I have a pension fund. By many objective measures, I am doing just dandy, thank you. Better than dandy. Pig in clover.

But what I wanted, was a different career altogether. A different life altogether, really. With a child. And H and I are living this life, this holding-pattern, really, because we want said child and want to be able to provide for this child if/when we have it. It rather precludes my flinging my job to the winds and accepting several years of financial uncertainty and general wobble and anxst while I make a go of the other career. Which won’t be much of an earner anyway even if I do nail it.

At some point we’re going to have to give up trying for a baby. And I will have lost the dream of children, yes, but also the dream of my other life, because I spent all my 30s holding on to the sensible job with maternity leave and a pension, and waiting, and I shall be spat out at 40 with nothing.


But hey, I’ll have a pension.

Do you know what? I’m going to go find the whisky bottle, that’s what.


12 responses to “Teeny-tiny violins

  • Valery

    quick hug before bed (here)
    Someone will explain that rationalising doesn’t make the pain or the loss go away.
    Want to say something clever about swallowing and whisky. swallowing will make the whisky go away?!? yep. or something.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Big violins. And no advice. Plenty of understanding and sympathy and choruses of it sucks.

  • Solnushka

    Mid thirties are a difficult time. But I don’t think you are being unreasonable in having a tantrum. You *should have* the kids and the shot at the alternative and it *does suck big time* that you are stuck in this holding pattern, even if it is a comfortableish holding pattern.

    This is the point at which I remind you that Machiavelli did not write the prince until he was 50 though.

    But I hope your get the anklebiters to go with the meisterwork.

  • Bionic Baby Mama

    meltdowns and whiskey both seem entirely reasonable responses.

    hell and damn. it should all be different.

  • Nina

    And when he’d smell the smoke and the cinders
    He’d slick back his hair, and open up his case
    He’d play the Cherokee Fiddle, he’d play it for the whiskey
    Cause good whiskey never let him lose his place….Sorry, May, your post put me in mind of this country song. It’s an old one by Johnny Lee. I’m with everyone else, you’re not pitching a fit, you’re despondent and disappointed. And you have every right to be. Much hugs and have several drinks on me.

  • Betty M

    I find it hard to forgive the universe for the time it has made you and so many others spend on hold waiting for that thing which others have fall in to their laps with no effort and no grief. I resent those years I spent in a haze of infertility related angst even though it all came good in the end for me and hopefully for you too soon. Bastard universe. And tantrums and full scale orchestras are entirely justified. Booze too.

  • lulu

    Damnit. Why is life so unfair?

  • MFA Mama

    What Bionic Baby Mama said.

    Motherfucking CELLO.

  • twangy

    Symphony worthy, for real. It’s very hard.


  • Korechronicles

    Whiskey! Sounds perfect. And more in tune than those bloody violins.

  • wombattwo

    No advice, just hugs and sympathy x

  • Everydaystranger

    I’ll bring more glasses for the whiskey. You need reinforcements.

    (Also, you have a pension? I am envious….)

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