Tag Archives: boundaries

PART IV OF V ISBN: 0-7611-2132-3

What to Expect When You're Expecting by Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg & Sandee Hathaway

What to Expect When You’re Expecting by Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg & Sandee Hathaway

THE PREGNANCY DIET

 

Oddly enough my world tends to revolve around food in pregnancy. I wouldn’t say I went on a diet when I first found out about the fetus, but I did make a conscious effort to eliminate sugar and fast food if I could help it. Getting the correct servings of vegetables and fruit when possible became important to me, and I stopped skipping meals. My mom shipped me a Nutri-Bullet juicer for Christmas. Although I think kitchen gadgets are total crap, I love this one. I use it every day.

One of the first questions people ask me is, do you have any cravings?

Oranges. Couldn’t get enough of them. Orange juice. Tangerines. I swear I could eat a whole box of Cuties in one sitting. One time I really wanted a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie, but I attribute that to me just wanting a brownie because it was nothing like the oranges fiasco. And water. I couldn’t hold it down. Unless it was from a bottle or filtered, I gagged on it. Solution? Add limes and lemons and oranges. Voilà. Two birds one stone. These days I’m guzzling lemonade.

I don’t take well to being told no, and the dietary restrictions that came with pregnancy were no exception. First, you’re not supposed to eat any unpasteurized products, soft cheeses, hot dogs, or lunch meat as they are all known to possibly carry Listeria, a bacteria that can cause premature birth and illness in fetuses. I wanted to know more about the risks of getting Listeria so I did a little Google research. Yes, that’s right, Google research, so take the following few paragraphs, as you will.

According to the American Pregnancy Association, about 1,700 people contract Listeria annually. Of these, 260 cases are fatal, and pregnant woman are 20 times more likely to contract it than a healthy adult. America’s population is 318.9 million. So, the average Joe has a 17 in 3,189,000 chance of getting Listeria. Twenty times that is what, 340 in 3,189, 000? I’m not good at math. I write for a living.

According to the National Safety Council*, 1 out of 112  people will die of a car accident annually. Why don’t doctors advise pregnant women not to drive in cars?

Before people jump down my throat about my logic, the American Pregnancy Association also says that 17% of pregnant women contract Listeria. I’ve never, ever heard of someone getting it, so to me, that number seems inflated. But what would I know? It’s avoidable, why risk it?

Then I found out Listeria contamination also occurred in caramel apples, cantaloupe, etcetera. Really? Apples and cantaloupe? Should I avoid them, too?

Ooooohhhhhh scandal. I occasionally eat blue cheese on a salad and don’t beat myself up over it. I don’t drink caffeine and avoid artificial sweeteners. I still eat sushi—in moderation. Only recently I should avoid herbal teas. And I was like seriously? Seriously? What can a pregnant woman eat???

More recently I wanted steak. When I get steak, I order it black and blue. Or as a friend once said, “so rare that a good veterinarian could bring it back to life.” Since steak is not a thing I regularly eat, I compromised: medium-rare.

Over Christmas Husband’s family made homemade ice cream, which included one or two raw eggs.

HUSBAND’S FAMILY: (Holding the bowl particularly close to my face…) Oh, this has raw eggs. You probably shouldn’t eat it…

ME: The HELL I shouldn’t. What’s in there?? Like two eggs split up in three gallons? GIVE ME SECONDS.

RANDOM MEMBER OF HUSBAND’S FAMILY DURING ANOTHER EATING ENCOUNTER WHEN I MENTIONED I STILL EAT SUSHI: (Pained disapproving look) I guess this stuff is easier to give up when you’re excited about the pregnancy.

ME: (In my head: This is why I set boundaries.)

But people don’t always respect boundaries, which is what I found out the hard way when I went back to Chicago earlier this month. Before going out for dinner on one of the first nights, I texted a friend and asked her to take down a Facebook post that referred to my pregnancy. I also asked her not to bring the pregnancy up at dinner. The response?

EMOTIONLESS TEXT MESSAGE: I took it down, but I just don’t understand why someone who sends out baby announcements doesn’t want to talk about pregnancy.

MY EMOTIONLESS TEXT MESSAGE: Thank you for being a kind and understanding friend.

Well, in short, I didn’t want to talk about itchy nipples over mahimahi. And another, very understanding, pregnant friend happened to come to dinner that night, too. Making the meal a little awkward, because I knew she absolutely would have loved to talk about her pregnancy. While I didn’t want to begrudge her that, I still wasn’t ready to cry over my asparagus. I paid a two-dollar up charge for it.

I was starting to feel like a giant Russian nesting doll, like any minute I’d be unscrewed and this small version of me would come out. It would have been nice to talk about that, but I genuinely wanted to hear about my friends’ vacations and love stories and horoscopes. I wanted to be me. Happy.

Tongues were clicking behind my back. Some friends were genuinely concerned: What will we talk to her about?

This is what I’m talking about. Once you’re pregnant, you ARE pregnant. Everything else in your life is null. What can we talk about? Maybe that long saga I’ve been working on for five years and just started editing? The agents I’m researching? The books I’m reading? The concerts I’ve been to? The movies I’ve seen? The upcoming publication of a chapbook I’m working on? Hell I’ve got three cats…time travel?

It’s like people haven’t known me for the last twenty years.

Did my Sassy-Chain-Smoking-Polish-Best-Friend understand it any better?

SCSPBF: What do you expect from people? This is a joyous occasion in the lives of normal people. They want to talk about it. Just like you have feelings that you want people to respect you need to respect theirs. And you can’t be mad at them for feeling the way they feel. By not giving people any explanation of what is going on, you’re expecting way too much of them.

It wasn’t like I didn’t know boundary setting was hard. Telling someone, “No,” is extremely difficult. I realized this from the great Nutty Bar encounter of Christmas 2014, when I saw a four-year old have a wicked melt down over being told they couldn’t have the chocolate covered peanut butter deliciousness. Punches were thrown. Nap time ensued only to be fought against by a little one running out the bedroom and screaming. I mean talk about birth control. Was this what I was in for?

My New Age aunts sure as hell weren’t going to respect boundaries. No, they were going to talk about their pregnancies over lunch and tell me how there was a life growing inside of me that needed nurturing and love. Because I had never thought of that. Oh my God! You are so right! This is the very first time I even considered that I ought to love this fetus!!

Again. The voice of depression. When you set boundaries, you’ll find that you have to firmly and continually keep setting them. You have to interrupt people and get real blunt, “I said I don’t want to talk about this.” You have to have the courage to get up, to walk out, and be willing for that relationship to end, if you are that bound to the new boundary you are setting. For me? I didn’t remind the aunts of my boundaries. I just ignored it, ate cookies, and tried nervously not to look at the security camera of the restaurant. They’re recording me.

In the past, I’ve been railroaded by a lack of boundaries. I did what maybe seventy percent of the population does: I lied. If I got pushed into talking about something I didn’t want to answer, I made something up. On bad days, I’d give in and tell the truth and then end up feeling bad, like I had shared too much or left myself too vulnerable to people who didn’t respect that vulnerability.

SCSBF had a point. I was burning my friends out. I knew my frequent texts and phone calls about depression and suicide over the last two months had been hard on them. My hormones were out of control, and I wasn’t doing anything productive about it, like getting in to see my psychologist. My friends deserved to know where I was coming from. But I didn’t even know where I was coming from. They were distancing themselves. Not sharing as much about their lives as they used to. They shielded me from their problems.

The conversation with SCSBF did not end there. She had a lot more to say about the subject, particularly when I brought up the idea of having a baby shower. Just as when you’re insane and have to do things others tell you to do because that’s what it means to live in their reality, like taking multivitamins or going for ultrasounds, I desperately felt like I had to do everything I could to be normal.

What she had to say got really hard to listen to. It was stuff that I particularly wanted to avoid when I was working on happiness, the stuff that I had already destroyed myself thinking about. But it was I who brought up the topic of boundaries and baby showers.

SCSBF: Did you or did you not let him impregnate you?

ME: Yeah, I went off of birth control, but it wasn’t planned. There was supposed to be more time. I didn’t think…

SCSBF: You’re acting like a victim. This was your choice. Your child does not have a choice in the matter.

ME: (crying) You seem to treat our other friend and her pregnancy so much differently. You seem to understand and not judge her or her choices.

SCSBF: Because she sucked it up. She didn’t complain about it or feel sorry for herself. Do you think she wanted to be pregnant at that moment in her life? She was just dumped, living at home, and jobless. But she committed to her choice and didn’t turn back. She loves her child. People don’t have sympathy for those who don’t.

ME: (crying) I don’t want sympathy. I just don’t know what I want to do.

SCSBF: It’s exhausting. You won’t do anything. You’ll just stay where you are with the life you have and not leave your Husband and keep the child. In the meantime, you’ll choose to stay miserable instead of appreciate the good things you have in life.

ME: (crying, as if none of this hasn’t occurred to me, as if I hadn’t already labeled myself a feminist’s nightmare.)

SCSBF: One minute you’re sending out baby announcements and talking about a baby shower and the next wondering if you’ll keep it. I can’t just stand by and watch you pretend to want this or go through the motions. A baby shower is a celebration. You shouldn’t have one. I just think someone needs to tell you this. I love you, but I can’t talk about this anymore.

ME: Okay.

Even though I had so much more to say and ask, the ended conversation there. I respected her boundary. I understood where she was coming from. What I felt, but couldn’t say, was that even if I decided not to keep the child, I still felt it had the right to a stroller or a pack of onesies. It deserved that page in its baby book. And just because it was clear to her what my life choices were going to be, didn’t mean it was easy or clear to me.

When you watch a horror movie unfold and the protagonist goes into the room where the killer is lurking, instead of say, calling the cops or fleeing, you instinctively shout at the screen, “NO BITCH DON’T DO IT.” But always, always, you have more information and insight and distance with the scenario than the protagonist. You know the killer is there. You think, in that situation you’d make a different choice. You think you’d be better. And maybe you would be. But a killer is not chasing you. You’re safe on your couch.

I had to talk to my therapist about the disagreement. The fight shook me. It was why I incited my boundaries to begin with. Personally, I’m no saint. I’ve said my fair share of brutally honest things at inappropriate times, but with this situation, I needed direction.

ME: I just don’t understand the where the anger comes from. I wasn’t prepared for it. I didn’t think what I was asking was unreasonable. My friends could talk about the pregnancy all they wanted among themselves. They were entitled to their feelings. I had a lot of the same feelings. I still struggle with all those thoughts myself. I was just asking them to not share them with me at the moment. I know boundaries are hard. I don’t like them myself. They have burned me, but always—I always respect them. If someone asks me to leave their house or never talk to them again, I do it. I don’t ask the person why. I don’t contact them again. I respect that they set that in place and it is their responsibility to come to me when they are ready.

THERAPIST: Your friends aren’t used to you having boundaries. They may not have boundaries of their own. Why do you think your friend said you were acting like a victim?

ME: I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know. Because I was crying? So I looked weak? I didn’t want sympathy. I wasn’t complaining; I set boundaries not to talk about it. Victims don’t have choices. I realize that. I’m past the choice I ultimately made to get pregnant. What I’m concerned with are the upcoming repercussions of that choice. What I’m upset over are my choices moving forward.

THERAPIST: What do you want?

ME: Understanding. Maybe I can’t talk about this with anyone but you? Maybe I should keep all this inside?

THERAPIST: It doesn’t feel good when you’re vulnerable and trust someone and they hurt you does it? I think it’s good to talk about this with friends you know will able to talk about it. I don’t think this means you cut out people out of your life who love you just because they don’t understand the situation. In life, friends help us when they can, and sometimes different friends step up and others fall back. That doesn’t mean they can’t come back into your life later and the relationship can’t be good again.

ME: I know. I know and I’ve done a lot of understanding and forgiving over the past year. Not just with others, but with myself, too. And it’s been a long tough process.

THERAPIST: You are getting better.

Am I?

Victim [vik-tim] noun

  1. a person who suffers from a destructive or injurious action or agency: a victim of an automobile accident.
  2. a person who is deceived or cheated, as by his or her own emotions or ignorance, by the dishonesty of others, or by some impersonal agency: a victim of misplaced confidence; the victim of a swindler; a victim of an optical illusion.
  3. a person or animal sacrificed or regarded as sacrificed: war victims.
  4. a living creature sacrificed in religious rites.

 

The thing I love most about SCSBF is she is honest. That’s why she’s my best friend, she tells it exactly like it is. And she was right—I did need to let people know what was going on with me. That conversation is what solidified me creating this string of blog posts.

But victim? No.

Fear [feer] noun

  1. a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.
  1. a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: an abnormal fear of heights.
  1. concern or anxiety; solicitude: a fear for someone’s safety.
  2. reverential awe, especially toward God: the fear of God.
  1. something that causes feelings of dread or apprehension; something a person is afraid of: Cancer is a common fear.
  2. anticipation of the possibility that something unpleasant will occur: Having grown up during the Great Depression, he had a constant fear of running out of money.

 

Afraid? Scared? Yes.

Parent [pair-uh nt, par-] noun

  1. a father or a mother.
  2. an ancestor, precursor, or progenitor.
  3. a source, origin, or cause.
  4. a protector or guardian.
  5. Biology. any organism that produces or generates another.
  6. Physics. the first nuclide in a radioactive series. adjective
  7. being the original source: a parent organization.
  8. Biology. pertaining to an organism, cell, or complex molecular structure that generates or produces another: parent cell; parent DNA.

 

Can I do this? Again. Can I do this right? Again. Can I do this and keep my shit together? Again. Can I handle loss if loss comes? Nothing is guaranteed. Again. Can I change? Again. I still eat blue cheese. Again. I still eat homemade ice cream with raw eggs. Again. I still eat sushi. Again. I eat my steak medium rare. Again. I drink herbal tea. Again. Will this child hate me? Again. What will it think when it reads these blogs? Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

 

(I will post the last installment of this five-part conversation tomorrow.)

 

 

*Maybe best death chart I’ve read all year. Aside from this one: http://www.besthealthdegrees.com/health-risks/

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