Commitment Issues

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in my advisor’s office.  If you don’t know about my “other” life, the one I complain out in other spaces opposed to this one, I am a full time doctoral student blindly navigating my way through academia in an attempt to build on my career in some way that still remains a mystery to me on most days.  Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it might sound on the surface.  It’s a nice distraction from my reality at times and I am excited and passionate about it at least half the time.  So anyway, there I was sitting in her office trying to plan for my competency exams.  I just finished my coursework this spring and am attempting to move forward, just one more “little” step before moving on to the final frontier….dun, dun, dun…the dissertation.  So we begin scheduling my plethora of dates necessary for this mother of all exams. 

Let’s work our way backwards, she says.  September 12^th, oral defense.  Well, she says “discussion” but come on, we are Speech Language Pathologists, semantics are important, let’s not kid ourselves.  It’s called a defense for a reason.  September 12^th, check.  Then, how about August 19^th for your take home?  That gives faculty a good three weeks to review it before orals.  Fantastic, will put it on my list of things to look forward to.  Okay, then three weeks for you to work on your take home after your in-house written, that would put us in the week of July 25^th to schedule your in-house.  How does July 25^th sound? 

Soon, much too soon.  And then I begin to process the date, the timing, the other things thing going on in my life right now.  A lump in my throat starts to form.  Tears begin to well.  I start negotiating, backstepping, procrastinating, putting it on hold and trying to pause my life for a bit.  July 6^th is 12 weeks.  A milestone for most pregnancies, a potential doomsday for me.  I can’t commit.  I can’t put that July 25^th on paper, what if….?  And I lose it and I come clean.  The tears come much too easy these days.  They don’t flow or flood much, mostly they just drip.  And thankfully, this isn’t the first time I’ve sat in my advisor’s office and sobbed, and thankfully, she’s been through this whole journey with me, from being her employee when my dad died, when my son died and then being her student with this past miscarriage.  She’s all too familiar with my journey, my volatile emotions, my waxing pain, my multiple wounds.  Thankfully this is a safe space for me.  Thankfully she gets it and gives me the choice and lets me be noncommittal if that’s where I need to be today.  And that truly is where I need to be today.  It’s becoming quite apparent that I am having huge commitment issues. 

And this isn’t the first time this has come about recently.  I have been having these commitment issues anytime anyone tries to schedule anything during the month of July and even the rest of the summer.  One of Rob’s close friends is getting married out of town on July 16^th.  Huge commitment.   Booking a flight, reserving a hotel room, getting a babysitter, sending in that reply card that says we are most definitely coming.  What if….?  We finally sent in that reply on the rsvp by date, decided to drive and convinced ourselves (okay, me) that we could cancel our hotel if needed.  I finally let Rob make the phone call and schedule our reservations.  He hung up the phone, then got on the computer.  Wait, did you just book that through Expedia?  Yes, why?  It’s non-refundable.  Ugh.  Rob’s mom just asked us if we were planning on coming to the lake house on the 4^th.  My answer:  I don’t know yet.  Sorry, commitment issues.   And this madness even extends into the rest of the summer.  Rob desperately wants to schedule a vacation so he has something to look forward to this summer.  I keep putting him off, telling him to wait, changing the subject, unwilling to commit to planning an adventure just yet.  And I feel horrible, he is such a patient man, attempting to understand my irrational commitment issues, but I just can’t do it.  Not yet.   I mean, I can’t even commit to gaining weight.  Of course, I haven’t found a way around this one, I am gaining weight, and at quite a remarkable speed (hey, I’m hungry).  But I am struggling with it much more so than I have in the past.  I don’t want to gain weight.  I don’t want to put on these extra pounds.  Because….what if…?  I don’t want to outgrow my wardrobe in 3 short months and have nothing to show for it.  So, because I can’t seem to stop myself from plumping up, I will noncommit by buying larger sizes of civilian clothes and bypass the maternity section altogether.  With other pregnancies I began wearing maternity pants at 10 weeks (well, they’re comfy), when I started to expand my waistline.  But not now, I just can’t do it.  Not yet. 

See it’s been 5 weeks since I first told you I was pregnant.  In case you are wondering, I still am.  Right now.  And right now seems to be the only place I will let myself visit these days.  I am reluctant to let myself think about much beyond that because when I do, the thoughts are just a little too scary.  My mind likes to run a little too rampant.  I’m currently venturing through that window in this pregnancy where everything went down with the last one.  I had an ultrasound two weeks ago and everything looked great.  Perfect size, perfect heartbeat, perfect little mini-me.  This should be good news and cause me to release some fear and relax a little.  But I’ve been here before, had this same appointment, the same ultrasound, the same results and so cut me a little slack if I’m prone to anticipating the same outcome.  And if I let myself fully revisit that dreadful day on February 11, 2011, I remember an ultrasound of a different variety.  This one showed my baby who was no longer the perfect size, no longer had a heartbeat and no longer resembled anything like a baby, let alone a pint-size version of myself.   And things feel all too familiar these days.  I have had four pregnancies in the last six years and this one feels the most like the last one.  The one that didn’t make it past 12 weeks, the one that I lost right around where I am right about now.  I was so nauseous with the first two that I could barely tolerate it, I was so tired that I laid on the floor in the speech clinic in between clients.  My first trimester with both babies that made it to term (of course one not much past), were almost unbearable.  With the last pregnancy I was nauseous, but it was quite tolerable.  I was worried about it for a bit, but that eight week ultrasound gave me a sense of security.  All looked well, all pregnancies are said to be different, I was certainly deserving of having an easy pregnancy, so I was letting go of all fears, of all irrational thoughts, and letting that added bit of reassurance of an early ultrasound lead the way.  And just so you know, it really sucks when you choose to release fear, give up the fight, indulge a little and then that beast strikes again and you find yourself back on the floor, trying to pick up the pieces one more time. 

I think what scares me the most is that I don’t know if I can pick up those pieces again.  What if I can’t find the strength one more time and I just have to leave those pieces scattered on the floor as I lay my head down beside them and give in and give up once and for all?  This is what I fear more than anything.  Of course, the loss itself would make me crumble, but the not knowing what to do or where to go from there has the potential to break me forever.  I don’t know if I could do this all again.  I’ve told myself, told Rob and told my OB that this is the last time, I don’t think I could handle letting go of any more babies after this.  And, right now, I don’t know if I mean it, but I don’t want to find out if I do.  And I want this so bad, this dream, this second living child, this sibling for my singleton.   And I can’t even go on from here, I can’t let my mind travel too far into the worlds of “what-ifs”, this is where I stop for now, and this is why I have commitment issues.  I just have to reject the future for a moment and find my peace in my little world of today.  Today is good.  Today I feel sick enough to know I’m still pregnant.  Today I am hungry enough to know I’m feeding another life inside.  Today this baby is here.  Today is all I can handle and it is good enough for me right now. 

It might seem as if I am looking at things with my glass half-empty these days, but I assure you, this glass is not half-empty…..nor is it half-full.  Right now I’m pretty sure I just have a glass.  A glass that I carry around with me wherever I go, knowing I have to protect it with all of my might to be sure it doesn’t get broken.  A glass in which I am unsure of the contents just yet.  I know not whether this vessel will begin filling up with joy or if it will become empty with pain, and I try desperately not to think of the outcome of this glass.  I’m just grateful that I possess this glass in the first place.  I’m grateful that this glass is mine right now.  And right now isn’t such a bad place.  I’m not overly miserable or distraught or hysterical right now.  I’m developing mad skills in the process of just being.  I am okay with sitting here in my right now land.  It’s the rest of the stuff beyond right now that gets me all freaked out, crazy and weepy.  It’s the wondering, the guessing, the anticipating, the planning.  It’s all just a little too much for me.  So, forgive me for my lack of scheduling, be patient with my just being, understand that today is about as much as I can handle.  But today I am content, I am at peace, I am here.  I just can’t visit tomorrow.  Not yet.  Not until tomorrow arrives.  Not until tomorrow becomes my today.