Sunday, March 21, 2010

Administrative assistance

Heather and I rarely fight.  What we do is have these tense discussions wherein an issue comes up, we both get defensive and get our feelings hurt, Heather raises her voice, and I cry.  That is what we just did.

The source of the discussion was my mixed-up scheduling of our appointment with Nurse Nina to find the godforsaken, mythical cervix which now is an object of resentment instead of the life force that provides perfect clues and perfect babies that I'm supposed to think it is.  Anyhow, I've been e-mailing Nina back and forth for a week or so now, first in hopes of advice that would change the cervix-finding game, then to schedule an appointment for her to show me where that whore of an orifice is.
We tried to set up something on Tuesday, our off day, but that wasn't good for Nina.  She suggested Thursday, but Heather can't get out then.  We switched to Friday, then Heather started her period and that was a no-go.  This whole time, Nina and I are e-mailing and I'm embarrassed at making things so difficult when she's doing us such a huge favor.  Heather is pissed because I keep making these suggestions to her that don't work at all and she keeps reminding me why I should have objected to start with.
Saturday we went to lunch, and I reported that I thought we'd see Nina Tuesday.  But what really happened was that Nina said Monday or Tuesday, and I said that Monday would be great but Tuesday we could go any time so it was really great.  This is because I have a terribly non-confrontational personality and feel so guilty to ask so much of Nina, and I will do just about anything to avoid causing people not to like me.  In my mind, though, we had settled on Tuesday, and I said so to Heather.  Then Nina said Monday at 12:30 and Heather said ...

The long and short of this is that I cried, as I am wont to do, because I've been trying to take care of my end, doing the research and organizing that I'm usually good at.  I'm trying to make this appointment, then one with a lawyer, and find sperm, and have a blog that I secretly wish would make me millions of dollars so I can support my child without going to work outside the house.  But it turns out that I'm not very good at that, and Heather saying she loves me and is sorry that I have all this on my shoulders does not make me feel any more that I'm contributing to a future with a child or that I have what it takes to organize one.

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