If you are reading this now then I've taken password protection off of this website for now. Last week I added that feature to essentially take down this website so that I could have some time to think about what I wanted to say, if anything, and what I wanted to do with this website that had inadvertently and mistakenly suddenly become the root of anger, resentment and hurt.
I have considered taking down this website indefinitely, calling out the misread statement and screaming back about just how hurt I am over what was done to me, never mentioning it again and some combination of the above.
I have realized that simply writing my feelings here on the Internet and making it public is making myself vulnerable to criticism which I am okay with but also, the occasional misunderstanding and misinterpretation. It saddens me when people misread my words or read into my words for more than I intended them to mean. I think this is human nature however, to analyze what we read, it is what we are taught for years in school, to think, question and look for hidden meaning in the words of others. I'm not Emily Dickinson and this is no John Donne poem with hidden darker meanings.
I recently wrote that after a several days of being sick, I was miserable, as in miserably sick, miserably alone, miserably without any help or assistance from my husband who was too busy at work to help me, miserable taking care of my toddler while being pregnant and being sick and feeling horrible. Um, what else would I have meant?
If your heard my croaking voice that week, you would not think that I was anything BUT deep in mucous misery. The fact that some people read into this statement and took it personally makes me feel horrifically misunderstood. I am deeply hurt that this was discussed without my knowledge or input. I fear that I was judged, misjudged and misunderstood.
This was so devastating to me that I spent over a week contemplating taking this blog offline permanently. I am still debating how I want to continue and in what format. What information do I want to put here, how honest should I be? If I can't write openly here on my own blog, should I even bother with unnecessary, unemotional, space-filling drivel?
There is a little more. Blogging, as of late, has felt like more of a stress-er, rather than a stress-relief. This pregnancy has been .... so many millions of time harder than when I carried Noah and I was wholly unprepared for the physical and emotional toll it would take. Life has been difficult too. With Marc working so many hours for so many months I was completely alone for months. In the beginning I was happy that he was busy with work and I could crawl to bed at 830PM and nurse my migraine-riddled morning sickness and bone-aching fatigue. But then, after ONLY four and a half months, the nausea subsided just a tiny bit, and I realized that WHOA! I WAS GOING TO HAVE A BABY AND THIS IS EXCITING. But, Marc was still busy and I was lonely. And still a little tired all the time. I made my priority taking care of Noah, making sure he was fed, clean and happy and ditto for myself, minus the happy and that was just about all I could manage in one day.
Alas, Marc is not an asshole. His busy season ended last week with the passing of September. He took off Thursday and Friday and it was nice having his help and having him around. I even left the house twice, by myself, but only for errands. Still, it was nice. He finds this statement to be sufficient.
Here I am now, 22 weeks pregnant with my daughter, feeling .... okay. Not as glowing as radiant as I was Noah, but also, not so stressed and amazing thankful that I can still take an afternoon nap.
So, here I am. In some form.