I'm fairly sure my healing has carried over into this weekend, because the truth is – I haven’t done much of anything. Cleaning the house really has been my biggest accomplishment. Other than that, I have been sleeping and eating. Eating and sleeping. Throw a little movie watching and book reading in there, and you have effectively summed up my far too lazy weekend.
I would bet that new roommate thinks I’m a grade A loser. I actually showered last night solely because I didn’t want her thinking that I was a shut in who also had hygiene issues. Even though had she not been here – I probably would have festered in my own filth all weekend as well.
Yeah, I'm classy like that.
I told Loo that we have to do something fun next weekend. Something to redeem myself in the eyes of new roommate. Because this is just embarrassing.
Beyond that though, my now almost 3 weeks of healing has left me practically devoid of anything to write about. I am going to work and coming home. Eating and sleeping. Reading and writing. Nothing exciting or noteworthy at all.
I have become a hermit.
And I need a life.
But seeing as it’s already mid afternoon on Sunday and I have no intentions of going anywhere or doing anything at this point – gaining said life is probably going to have to wait until next week.
After all, I wouldn’t want to overexert myself.
In the lull of healing, I have been wasting hours upon hours away watching movies. On Friday I came home to find Kick-Ass in the mail (which I added to my queue based solely on the recommendation of Brooke Davis). I have to admit - I loved it. I did have to keep reminding myself that it was a movie and that Hit Girl wasn't a real little girl being abused by her psychotic (if not well meaning) father, but besides that? I loved it. And in true Brooke Davis fashion - it also kind of made me wish I could do a little ass-kicking of my own. What do you think? Could I pull off some super-hero tights and a cape?
After relishing in my super-hero fantasies, I moved on to a little instant viewing. Yesterday I was horrified and appalled as I watched The Lottery. I thought about doing something great in the name of public education. Then I remembered the whole lack of energy (or desire to do much of anything at all) issue, and decided against it. Choosing instead to start up the next movie on my instant viewing queue.
Yes, this has been my life. Pathetic, right?
Today though, I watched a movie that struck a chord. I’m not going to name it here, solely because I am about to give away the entire plot point and I don’t want to ruin it for anyone else with obscure tastes in the random movies available on Netflix Instant Viewing. But suffice it to say… I was kind of left wishing that movies came with an infertility warning.
That’s right. I unwittingly watched a movie with an infertility plot line. Nothing in the initial blurb gave any indication at all that infertility was a part of the story line, and when it did crop up - I was completely caught off guard.
There should be a warning for that.
Either way, it was a cute movie. Boy meets girl. Boy falls for girl. Girl falls for boy. But girl is clearly holding back. Boy proposes. Girl turns him down and ends the relationship. Boy is crushed. Girl is crushed. Boy writes book. Girl packs her bags and plans on leaving the state. Boy chases her to the airport. Boy is too late. Boy goes home and finds girl on his couch. Girl confesses that she couldn’t leave without telling him the truth.
Nothing we haven’t all seen before, right? Except… the truth girl had to tell boy was that she was infertile. That she would never have kids. That she cared too much about him to take that away from him (boy also happened to have a nephew and niece who he was very close with – making his future desires to be a parent clear). She felt he deserved to have that dream. That because of her infertility, he deserved better than her.
Also, it turns out that her ex husband actually left her because of her infertility – which explains these deep dark scars she has surrounding the whole thing.
I should have been rolling my eyes at this point. It was so overdramatic and contrived and… I was sobbing. Literally sobbing. At a romantic comedy! One that from what I can tell went straight to DVD. Not only straight to DVD, but also straight to Netflix Instant Viewing! And there I was, crying like a baby.
Remember yesterday when I said the crazy out of control emotions were getting under control. Um, well, yeah… maybe not so much.
And I repeat – there should be a warning.
Of course boy said all the right things. That he loved her for her. That they would adopt. That he didn’t want a life without her. He reassured her, and they continued forward happily ever after. End of story. All is well.
Except… is it? Is it really?
Or does she continue to feel that guilt for the rest of their lives? When they run into walls in the adoption process (as most couples do at some point or another), does she hurt even worse knowing that he is hurting? When she looks into his eyes, does she regret not being able to give him a child with those same features? When she is faced with his desire to be a parent and knows that she can't give him that with the same ease someone else would be able to, does she continue to feel less than? For the rest of her life, is she always faced with the nagging concern that perhaps he would have had a happier life with someone else? Someone fertile?
I have to admit, as much as I wanted to throw something at this chick and her insecurities surrounding infertility, I too have been finding myself gravitating lately towards men who are more or less indifferent to the idea of children. I don’t know what it is. Two years ago, a guy who wasn’t absolutely sure about having babies in the future would have been a deal breaker for me. Now, I think I would possibly shy away a little from a man who was strong and sure about his desire to be a daddy. It’s hard to explain, but I think there is this part of me that can’t imagine putting someone else through this. A piece of me that doesn’t want to be responsible for inflicting that kind of heartache upon someone who loves me.
I realize how silly it is to worry about something like this. And the truth is, I don’t even think I’ve really been worrying about it that much. I just think it’s this thought that has been lingering in the back of my subconscious, and this stupid movie brought it to the surface for me.
And really, a warning would have been nice!
I don’t know what the future holds. I hope and pray that it involves me being a mother. Somehow, someway; just being a mother. But if I met Mr. Right tomorrow and he was sincerely passionate about being a father, I honestly can’t say that I wouldn’t be a little hesitant. That I wouldn’t worry about how he would feel years down the line if I couldn’t give him what he wanted. If I couldn’t conceive, no matter what interventions we took, and if our attempts at adoption only resulted in hitting the brick walls that I hear about so many adoption hopefuls hitting. Could I really drag someone else through that grief? Through the sadness I myself have felt over the last year?
Could I even realistically put myself through it again?
The truth is, I don’t know. I would like to think that I wouldn’t let it hold me back the way this girl did, but… as much as I was annoyed by her; I also understood. There’s something to be said for not wanting to drag somebody you care about into your mess.
Of course, there is also something to be said for a good old fashioned warning.
I’m thinking I might have to write Netflix. Let them know that on top of their violence and profanity warnings, a simple infertility warning might be warranted as well.
Because if I am going to be lying around in bed being good to myself, I don’t want to be bombarded so unexpectedly with a plot line that hits a little too close to home.
Just to be safe, I think I’m going to watch Kick-Ass again.
(Courtesy of Screencrave.com)
I’d rather be identifying with Hit Girl over Infertility Girl any day.
