Today has been fairly uneventful as far as disasters, mishaps or weird encounters with strangers go. We had a walk in the sunshine at Hesslewood Country Park with a couple of friends and a spaniel. Then we went on to the Fox and Coney in South Cave for some good food. Emily was a generous little woman and sat and chewed on cucumber sticks, strawberries and chicken breast quite quietly while we ate…even longer than we ate actually and I got hands free time and uninterrupted conversation.
One of my friends is pregnant and everywhere I go I keep hearing of people that are pregnant. I’m very happy for all my pregnant pals but I feel sort of weird about memories of my own pregnancy. I sometimes feel sorry for what a naive fool I was to not see this coming (SO self obsessed to feel sorry for your former self). I also keep re-hashing the birth in my mind, especially my husband’s role in the birth. It makes sense that he was in the room when she was born as he was my husband and her father…but at the same time it sort of taints the memory of it. I also keep thinking about how involved and interested he was / was not throughout the birth and how this was a precursor of things to come.
I remember my online mum friends saying that when your husband has watched you birth his child he basically sees you as some kind of goddess for a while and loves you even more for it. I never got that. He wasn’t cruel or anything like that but he certainly didn’t act like I had done anything special lately. I was no goddess to him. It just makes me feel very sad for what should have been and that I have missed out on something special. It’s more like he was there to congratulate a friend on giving birth rather than supporting the wife and mother of his child.
It’s definitely a pointless exercise but something about hanging out alone next to a sleeping baby on a Saturday night makes my mind wander to sadder things. When you are on maternity leave and live alone a Saturday might as well be a Wednesday for all it matters. But I think it is the thought of all the happy couples doing Saturday night things together…even if it’s just a fairly boring dinner in front of the TV. But it makes me feel lonely. It is a stupid thing to think as if I was married my evening would have panned out the same. Even before I had a co-sleeping baby my husband generally spent his evenings away from me and on the computer / working out so this is nothing new.
I suppose it is better to be alone than lonely with your husband. At least now I have a chance of finding someone I am more compatible with. All the jokes of being desperate to have sex again aside, I know I have to mourn the loss of my marriage and the future and family I thought I would have before I can start on that.
Wow though…you can really tell the difference in my diary entries when they go in mid afternoon compared to bedtime. Maybe I should enforce early lights out rather than musing on how my life has not gone to plan! On that note I think I had better attempt sleep.