I read this post over at Suburban Turmoil and had I guess what you would call a physical reaction to it. I kinda wanted to crawl through my laptop screen, find this meddling little old woman and beat her with her purse. Who does this lady think she is? That just because she’s lived a handful of years more than some of us that it gives her the right to be a complete unthinking asshole? That maybe we’ll even THANK HER for her assholery? Little old ladies get a bad reputation and it’s from women like this one who I’m sure THINK they’re doing us all a huge favor but who are actually being complete assholes.
(Want me to say it again? ASSHOLE!)
Something similar happened to me once. I may have mentioned it on this here blog but if I did I a) don’t remember it and b) don’t care because I’m going to talk about it again. This happened years ago, back when life was The Suck for us. Actually, I think it was before things got REALLY sucky. But just barely. If I recall correctly, we had gone to church that morning and were going out to lunch afterward at one of my favorite restaurants, Romano’s Macaroni Grill. This was done in an effort to cheer me up. We were still trying SO HARD to have another baby but hadn’t made the leap to Clomid yet. I’m pretty sure this was after I had seen the reproductive endocrinologist and before my thyroid issues were diagnosed. All I knew was that I had been told that I was not ovulating and that if I wanted to ovulate, I would have to take Clomid.
I like to think of that period of my life as The Great Denial. I was told to call up the doctor’s office when I got my next period and they would run all the necessary bloodwork and get me started on Clomid. That just scared the crap out of me, for whatever reason. I didn’t want to have to take Clomid. I didn’t want to have to go get an exam on day 2 of my period. I wanted to get pregnant normally, damnit.
Of course, I didn’t know that the thyroid was junking things up. That it was why I was feeling so tired and cranky and fat. But tired and cranky and fat I was definitely feeling. And that week had been a particularly rough one. So Kile took me to the Macaroni Grill to do something nice. Harry was about 3 at the time, if I remember right. He’s a good kid but even good kids have off days and this was an off day. He was being frustrating and I was feeling frustrated. While we were sitting at our table, waiting for our lunches to be served, I had to reprimand him a time or two. We have always expected all of our children to behave when eating out in public. I don’t recall him doing anything especially bad (because he rarely ever did), but I probably snapped at him to keep his voice down or to stop throwing his bread or somesuch. And yes, I was probably a little more annoyed than usual. I had a lot on my mind, with my recent INFERTILE diagnosis and all.
Well, the next thing I knew, a line of little old ladies was filing past our table on their way out of the restaurant. One of them stopped and leaned down to speak to me. For a minute, I thought she was going to praise Harry. That often happened while we were out. Random strangers have often stopped to tell us how impressed they were with how he behaved in public or how cute he was, etc and so forth. So imagine my shock when said something to the effect of, “I’m going to pray for you that you can look past your venom and see what a sweet little boy you have. You really should have more patience with him, they’re only little for such a short time. So I’m going to pray that are able to fully appreciate your little angel while you still can.”
Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how those words ate a hole in my soul that afternoon? It was a noisy restaurant and she spoke rather quietly so I was the only one who heard her words. At the time, I was so stunned, that I just nodded dumbly while she went on her way. Kile smiled at her, thinking she had stopped to praise Harry, much like I had initially thought. Next think Kile knew, I was crying into my lemonade.
Of course, how could this lady know all the stress we were under, trying to have another baby? Still, to have my parenting called into question at a time where I was yearning so MUCH to have another child was gut-wrenching. It introduced that evilest of all little voices in my head: “This is why you don’t have another baby yet. You don’t deserve one. You are a BAD MOTHER.”
I would remember this incident for years. Every time I would ache over empty arms, negative pregnancy tests, stillborn babies and heartbreaking miscarriages, I would remember that little old lady. And I would hear that voice, “You don’t deserve another baby. YOU ARE A BAD MOTHER.”
Rational or not, true or not… we all know that such thoughts don’t spring forth from a rational part of our minds and hearts. If I could go back to that afternoon, would I have the strength to say something to that woman? What would I say? “I do appreciate my son and I would thank you to mind your own business. You don’t know anything about me and my family. I’m going to pray for you, that you find peace in your own life and stop feeling the need to spread your negativity to others.”
Who am I kidding? I would never have that sort of courage. Still. It sure would have felt good to see the look on her face. That or I could have beat her with her own purse. That would have felt good too.
