Christmas fears

Hormones are an terrible thing - in the sense of being formidably great; exciting awe. The pills have been such a great help to me since I began them. I've really been feeling so much more like myself. There were even times this months when I almost believed that I didn't care if I ever have children or not. I thought about all the bad things about having them, and counted the blessings in my life without them. I joked about getting a convertible instead. (That may have been fodder for previous entries. I can't recall). Yet, as I approach the end of this cycle, my hormones seem to have kicked in and are trying to override the more euphoric properties of the pills. It makes me wonder how I coped without them for so long. I suppose you just don't realise how depressed you are at the time.

The catalyst for this current state of anxiety is the thought of Christmas, and specifically spending it with the pregnant sister in law. While I had ostensibly reconciled myself to the idea of Christmas with the bump, the plans have now expanded to include the SIL's sister in law and her family. I've met them several times now, and they are lovely people, but with two small children (one who's only 6 months) they're just obsessed by family. That's just what they talk about all the time. I'm sure they're not alone in this - I expect every family with young uns is the same. I just can't bear it over a long, extended period.

I bottle it all up, try not to acknowledge the pain even to myself, hold the baby, and smile as the proud father repeats over and over 'il n'est pas beau mon fils?' (Isn't he beautiful, my son?) at the top of his voice, and with extra emphasis on the 'son' bit to show how PROUD he is. (Michael is not the shy retiring type. When I say he shouts it over and over, I'm not exaggerating. He seriously does!)

This summer the Bear and I spend two weeks in France. From the day we arrived we spent it with relatives and friends with small children. Literally, there were very few days over the two weeks that were child/baby free. And when there were no children there were the bear's parents, talking about how cute the bear was as a child, how great it is to be a parent, etc etc. By the end of the two weeks I was totally depressed, kept bursting into tears at inappropriate moments. I'd tried hard to keep it together, but it's just impossible when it's being rubbed in your face all the time. So you can see why I can't bear the idea of a repeat performance over Christmas!

The other thing that plagues me is the sense that without children we will be somehow always regarded as abnormal. My sister in law's wedding this summer was conducted in Western Armenian, so I didn't understand a word. It was a lovely ceremony though, and as the priest rambled on, I found myself looking at a painting of the Virgin Mary and child and praying to her to let me have a baby. I even lit a candle on the way out and said a prayer to my own mother (who died 21 years ago) to ask God - when she sees him - to let me have a baby. You can see I was pretty emotional.

Later, at the end of the reception, my new brother in law decided to translate what the priest had said in his sermon: "There are two things necessary for a proper marriage - the first is absolute trust and honesty with one another. The second is children." I nearly choked. So our marriage is not proper unless we have children? Again, I was watching a TV show yesterday when one of the characters said "Having children is a part of most normal relationships." Those who are lucky enough to get pregnant easily, or who take it for granted that they simply will when the time is right, just don't understand how incredibly hurtful that kind of statement is.

Ironically, my sister in law seems to have got pregnant on her wedding night, so perhaps what I really need is the benediction of an orthodox Armenian priest.