Thursday 3rd December 2009
Gestation: 9 weeks, 6 days
One year ago.
Suse and I had the most colossal fight this morning. Jesus.
Beta-HCG has a lot to answer for. This is one powerful hormone. I don’t care if there are only four-hundred-and-thirty-two international units per litre currently flowing through her veins. With five litres of circulating blood, that’s two-thousand-one-hundred-and-sixty units on board.
And each and every one of them is responsible for a different mood.
I did a lot of looking at the ground, at the roof, or at her, watching in fascination at the spittle forming at the edge of her mouth. In between, I did what I could to inflame things further.
I still get caught in the same loop. I still get stuck. Like a friggin’ amateur. You’d think I’d learn. But no. I still make the same stupid mistake any time a hormonal argument ensues: I try to reason.
This was a ridiculous argument. It doesn’t even bare mentioning. I’ll never have the estrogen and progesterone levels that a woman deals with every single month. So, you’d think, one of these days, I will learn to not argue back.
But once I’ve started, I just won’t stop. Back down? Hell no.
I’m a stubborn motherfucker.
And so is Suse.
* * * * *
The end result? A very, very heated discussion.
I know that Suse can’t escape it, that she can’t get away, and that this is unfair. But that’s how it is. I can’t make myself female, I can’t have this living torment transfer it to my non-existent uterus, and I can’t suddenly deport this feeling of emotional bankruptcy into my own account – although I reckon I’m half way there on that count.
Meantime, Suse’s lovely, dear mother was somewhere in the shoebox of a house we live in, minding as much of her business as she could without a set of earplugs. If only I’d lent her my Nintendo DS. If only I’d got her to film it. Then we could have sent it into Candid Camera. Or Punk’d. Or Australia’s Got Talent. Seriously, we pulled some great lines. We broke the bank on this one.
The Beta-HCG levels are falling through Suse’s boots.
Yesterday, she was happy and glowing and laughing wildly with friends. Today, it’s bloating, headaches, and two-thousand-one-hundred-and-sixty different moods.
It makes perfect sense.
Unless it’s happening to you.
When Beta-HCG is floated, I’ll be buying in.
It’s one strong currency.
* * * * *