Nasstasy
18.01.2005, 10:45
Every month with the next menses I die and I am born again. Here three years. Then, three years ago, this prokljatyj the instinct of a maternity for the first time has woken up in me and has forced to reconsider all vital values. I can not tell or say, that I madly like children what to potter with them - my calling, that at a view on kids I run into affection. Here from puppies precisely I run into affection, and with children somehow not so. But the idea on the own child zasela in my brains and she now operates or controls my life.
Speak what to become pregnant it is possible, when you cease to count days, to draw schedules and to arrange the sex desires under madam an ovulation. Tell or say to me, please, AS it is possible to forget about it or this? I can be woken in the middle of night after mad day of work, I shall respond you - what today day of a cycle, for what day of week the prospective ovulation is necessary and in what month I shall give birth to the child if all takes place in this cycle. As though any mad formula from Excel a strong virus has taken root into my subcortex.
I continue to live the usual life - I work and I have a good time, of friends I joke, I am dared or laugh carefree, I discuss with the husband its or his grandiose projects and I sympathize with complaints of girlfriends. But NOBODY knows, what nightmare is created at me inside. Really, is not present day when I do not think of it or this, in a subconscious mind always pulses: the child, the child, the child
SHiza has crept imperceptibly. Almost right at the beginning of my thorny way, to wonderful years or summer month to which I assigned greater or big hopes, then without a panic, nerves and doubts, I have shared with the girlfriend supposedly it is time to me, was solved, I want. Cheerfully potryndeli, it has appeared, both at it or her and at me a delay in a week. Have bought or purchased tests (here a silly woman), have lowered or omitted, have taken out, ha--, we wait. And here when it or she had two strias, and at me - are not present, here then the roof and has gone. The girlfriend has had a little cry (her pregnancy over a horse-radish was not necessary), and I to Me would be desirable to kill it or her, with its or her these foolish strias. Such black rage has risen whence from within, never suspected, that in me such can be. First I consoled myself, that tests are imperfect, that there can be all is very much the other way, then, that in first three months pregnancy can interrupt, that labors can be not so successful. I joyfully congratulated it or her on good analyses, and inside felt disappointment? Also it was incured.
There are months when to me towards on streets there are simply crowds of pregnant aunts (for certain specially track down me to torment:-)) I Hate advertising where the languid full-faced blonde is confused - -and-, us becomes fast three. (by the way, on advertising about pampers with babies while I react with morbid interest. All can yet is lost?)
One of these days the girlfriend called in with the bebi on a visit. Clever charming karapuz. My husband joyfully threw it or him on arms or hand, they is cheerful agukali each other. It seems, I any more shall not want to let in the girlfriend the house
Has spent a heap of money for doctors, a semen of the husband by way of, at me too like that's all right, treated for all successively that though something to undertake. So it is tired.
Speak, despair a-sin. I am recklessly betraid to him day by day. That, a predatory maternal instinct and so has wakened in me a lot of novel - wild jealousy, envy and a rage. I sob above each menses, I so wish to stop this mad marathon. Each cycle I try to revive as a bird the Phoenix, with new hope, and each time I die again.
P.S.: very much I am afraid to do or make EKO. It is my last hope. I think, if the God does not wish to give me the child at normal health, the good husband and so forth and EKO will not outwit destiny.
Speak what to become pregnant it is possible, when you cease to count days, to draw schedules and to arrange the sex desires under madam an ovulation. Tell or say to me, please, AS it is possible to forget about it or this? I can be woken in the middle of night after mad day of work, I shall respond you - what today day of a cycle, for what day of week the prospective ovulation is necessary and in what month I shall give birth to the child if all takes place in this cycle. As though any mad formula from Excel a strong virus has taken root into my subcortex.
I continue to live the usual life - I work and I have a good time, of friends I joke, I am dared or laugh carefree, I discuss with the husband its or his grandiose projects and I sympathize with complaints of girlfriends. But NOBODY knows, what nightmare is created at me inside. Really, is not present day when I do not think of it or this, in a subconscious mind always pulses: the child, the child, the child
SHiza has crept imperceptibly. Almost right at the beginning of my thorny way, to wonderful years or summer month to which I assigned greater or big hopes, then without a panic, nerves and doubts, I have shared with the girlfriend supposedly it is time to me, was solved, I want. Cheerfully potryndeli, it has appeared, both at it or her and at me a delay in a week. Have bought or purchased tests (here a silly woman), have lowered or omitted, have taken out, ha--, we wait. And here when it or she had two strias, and at me - are not present, here then the roof and has gone. The girlfriend has had a little cry (her pregnancy over a horse-radish was not necessary), and I to Me would be desirable to kill it or her, with its or her these foolish strias. Such black rage has risen whence from within, never suspected, that in me such can be. First I consoled myself, that tests are imperfect, that there can be all is very much the other way, then, that in first three months pregnancy can interrupt, that labors can be not so successful. I joyfully congratulated it or her on good analyses, and inside felt disappointment? Also it was incured.
There are months when to me towards on streets there are simply crowds of pregnant aunts (for certain specially track down me to torment:-)) I Hate advertising where the languid full-faced blonde is confused - -and-, us becomes fast three. (by the way, on advertising about pampers with babies while I react with morbid interest. All can yet is lost?)
One of these days the girlfriend called in with the bebi on a visit. Clever charming karapuz. My husband joyfully threw it or him on arms or hand, they is cheerful agukali each other. It seems, I any more shall not want to let in the girlfriend the house
Has spent a heap of money for doctors, a semen of the husband by way of, at me too like that's all right, treated for all successively that though something to undertake. So it is tired.
Speak, despair a-sin. I am recklessly betraid to him day by day. That, a predatory maternal instinct and so has wakened in me a lot of novel - wild jealousy, envy and a rage. I sob above each menses, I so wish to stop this mad marathon. Each cycle I try to revive as a bird the Phoenix, with new hope, and each time I die again.
P.S.: very much I am afraid to do or make EKO. It is my last hope. I think, if the God does not wish to give me the child at normal health, the good husband and so forth and EKO will not outwit destiny.