I've given myself 4 days: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and today. These 4 days were for indulgences, particularly today: I have not done much today besides read 67%* of "The Year of Magical Thinking" by Joan Didion.
On Monday, my boss, fed up with me missing work due to morning sickness, declared me useless, implied I was untrustworthy and asked why I even bothered coming in at all. I won't lie: it hurt at the time. I'm not really all that upset though, because, despite the shock of having a grown man childishly storm into my office, rifle through my things, hurl insults at me and then storm out, I also know exactly what I did at that job and know that I am a) useful and b) trustworthy. I just got pregnant, which, as far as I can tell, I am allowed to do. So, these 4 days haven't been me wallowing in depression. I'm pretty sure. After he left my office, I emailed him a note saying I wouldn't be returning.
At the time, I didn't know how I was going to react. I came home in tears and lay down on one of the dog beds with Jeeves for awhile. Rather sadly memetic and cliché, I sobbed into his fur. He's a good sport and puts up with this from time to time. Then I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was going to be one of those weeks or months where I couldn't face waking up in the mornings or going to sleep at night.
I pulled my shoes off and crawled into bed.
People keep asking me if I'm excited to be pregnant. I can't give them the "correct" answer because excited isn't really the word for it. I'm never excited about things until after they've happened. I'm not overly friendly to people I don't know that well and I have always had a revulsion towards the false, immediate intimacy that is so expected of women these days. False emotions go along with that and I simply can't say, "Yes! Oh my god, I'm over the moon!"
What I am is: Apprehensive. A little scared about a number of things. Looking forward to it. Anxious about a number of things. Curious. Aware.
Anyway. I woke up after my nap and Ryan came home. He seemed pleased not to find me bawling. I was a bit surprised myself, but, I really think I'm not all that stressed because my boss was and is just plain wrong. It would be more upsetting if I had actually screwed up. Believe me, as someone who has spent a lifetime perfecting turning feeling horribly guilty about things that have barely anything to do with me into catalysts for debilitating, crippling, depression, I am certain that if there was a grain of truth to what I was accused of, I probably would have jumped out a window.
Instead, I did the dishes and ate some lasagne ad thought about what I plan to do next week, after my miniature holiday is over.
*I have a Kindle, so I know.