The friendship abortion

Aren't pregnant women into themselves? Completely besotted. Nearly every interaction with a pregnant woman involves the obligation to ask how they're feeling and they always ALWAYS continue the conversation with some extra information. One of the most sickening sights for me is watching a woman slowly rubbing her own pregnant abdomen in public. I'm not really sure why it bothers me so much but I always think she might as well be massaging her own breasts. There's always a very satisfied look on her face as she massages her bump. Look how fertile and content I am people. And I'm definitely going to be a great mum, look how caring I am towards fetus even before it comes out. Wait till it starts screaming I always think to myself. That'll wipe the smirk off your face.

Now can I just clarify that a woman is within her rights to be into her own pregnancy. It's a fucking horrible experience. We deserve the right to complain about what happens to our bodies during those foul 40 weeks. We actually don't complain enough. Usually put back in our place by society. If society didn't muzzle us, we'd all be a lot more open about vulval varicose veins and pissing ourselves when we cough rather than giving our abdomens an erotic massage in front of friends. My own husband joked about getting a contract written up with each pregnancy - the contract would have me sign off on any right to complain. He was a real gem. Rubbing in public? That's not the attention we need as females.

I have an aged friend who was recently pregnant with her second child. Huge gap of nearly 6 years between child # 1 and child # 2. Only reason you'd have a gap like that when you’re closing in on mid-forties is if you need to find a new father for the second child. That was her problem.

Let's call this woman Marnie. Marnie and I have been friends for about 15 years. Kind of acquaintances who became friendly who went on to see each other twice a year because sometimes a shared history is nice to catch up on. Looking back I seem to remember Marnie once sharing conversations with me, but as the years went on it ended up being her talking without break about herself and her dramatic life while I listened. I'd occasionally try to interject, but she'd power on with whatever sentence she was half-way through until eventually you just had to stop...and listen some more.  I moved away, and our conversations for the last 2 years have been by phone and as infrequent as politely possible - maybe once every 6 months.

Once I put the phone on speaker in the kitchen, went and did a shit and came back and Marnie was still talking. She certainly never wanted advice, she'd really up the volume if you came in with that. She tended to mention an issue (whatever was current for her), dissect it (this usually involved her reading through text messages or recounting conversations word for word to you), then she'd finally come up with her own solution.

The phone calls were L...O...N...G. Excruciating.

I could never answer the phone when she rang because you can't just start a 2 hour phone call anywhere. You need to be prepared. Really prepared. And I needed to be drunk to start a phone call with Marnie. When the time came to finally bite the bullet and call her back, I'd warn the kids, bring the cask of wine into my bedroom, fill up a tall glass, take a big breath and...just do it.  And about 9 months ago, that process that got me into some trouble.

The Marnie "I'm pregnant" conversation arrived. The father had skipped town on hearing about the pregnancy and returned to his pre-Marnie life of living in his car and I suspect battling his mental health demons. I never met him, but Marnie had spent a couple solid hours reading out his 'really intelligent' text messages over the phone to me. 'He knows all about Philosophers and stuff too.' He was unable to contribute financially to the relationship, but he was apparently very good in bed.

2 weeks after that conversation a text message arrives stating how glad Marnie was that I'd be coming to help her when bubba arrived. Nup, don't remember saying that.  If I drink enough, I can sometimes experience amnesia. I should have put things straight then and there, but it was so far away that I thought I'd get round to dealing with it 'sometime soon'. I should have explained that I need to get drunk every time I call her and that I didn't really want to be friends with an aggressive self-obsessed verbal diarrhoea-er. I didn't.

In retrospect, I think there is a good chance that Marnie lied about the fact that I volunteered myself to help her. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't offer my services for a god-awful task like that, even if I was drunk. I hate other people's babies.

Our next conversation was all about how she was all alone blah blah blah. Thought to myself that a few days helping her out wouldn't be the end of the world. I liked her 6yo daughter, she had a nice house. I have family that live near her. Yeh, I could manage that for an old friend, maybe catch up with a few people while I was there. Kill 2 birds with one stone.

Wasn't able to book flights until I heard the date for the caesarian. It was a pretty busy time at work, but I arranged to take holidays from work from Tuesday to Friday, thinking I would fly back on the weekend. My children could fend for themselves but at least I'd be home for the first day of the school year on the Monday. Hopefully it would all go smoothly and she'd be home by day 3 after the birth.

I got my son who lives in the same suburb as Marnie to pick me up and drive me from the airport to her place. We had a little time to catch up because Marnie had a morning of waxing, spray-tans and application of fake eyelashes planned. Kind of like she was getting ready for her wedding day. If she had talked to me earlier, the nurse in me would have suggested that a spray tan probably isn't a good idea before a caesarian section. Who can blame a pregnant woman for wanting to look her best for the surgeon?

When I arrived one of the first things Marnie said to me was that she was so happy I was here to help her out for 2 weeks. Ahhh, nope. I quickly put her straight. And boy was she pissed. Tried to hide it but just kept saying, 'but you said you'd be her till the (insert date), that's all. I'm just a little surprised that's no longer the case.' Nope. Never said that. Never even discussed a go home date, just assumed she understood I'd be able to spare a few days, and that's it. Full-time work. School-aged children. AS IF.

Well she held her anger in check until that evening. Maybe she loosened up because she drank her first wine in 9 months. Once her daughter was asleep, away she went. Told me off like a mother chastising her naughty child. Told me that not only did I day I'd be here till the (insert date), 'YOU ACTUALLY SAID YOU COULD STAY AS LONG AS I NEEDED YOU.'

And that's when I realised Marnie was a complete bullshit artist. She just made this shit up. I stopped disagreeing with her and just sat and drank my wine as she ranted. As I said, she's very difficult to interrupt.

 'How am I supposed to cope next week trying to get my daughter to school while I have a newborn?'  Ask one of your children's fathers to help.

'How am I supposed to get my daughter to school if the baby is crying?' 
Ask one of your children's fathers to help.

'You know I don't have the support you had when you had children.'
Untrue, I was married to an unhelpful buffoon and actually, not my problem.

Me me me me me. What can you do for me? The pregnant one. Hello! Is there a woman, any woman in the house who can take over the duties of a responsible father please?

I'd taken holidays from work to spend with her when I'd rather spend my few weeks holidays per year with my own children. I'd paid for an airfare I couldn't afford. I'd left work when I really needed to be there. My children back home were charged with buying their own school books which was bound to be a disaster (it was). I was in the same vicinity as my 2 sons and my aged parents and some old friends but I had no time to see them.

It took a huge deal of restraint to stay there that night. She honestly thought she had a right to be angry at me. To scold me. I seriously considered grabbing my bags and leaving, but in the end I couldn't be as mean to her as she was to me. I just shut up and did my job and planned my escape. I farewelled her the morning of her baby's birth. I took her daughter to school (much to her disgust, she thought I'd be playing with her in a park all day). I took her daughter to the hospital to visit her new sibling - twice. I paid for parking at the hospital on 3 occasions. I fed her chooks, watered her plants, bought a present for the baby. I picked her up from the hospital, brought her bags in from the car, put them on her bed. I said goodbye to her sweet daughter. Then I picked up my bag and I left.

A couple weeks have passed since then. I blocked Marnie on my phone so I'd never have to feel that deep dread I used to feel whenever she called. Not 100% sure she'd contact me again, but it felt good that if she did send one of those long, boring, condescending rants she was used to sending to other people in her life, I'd never get to see it. You can guarantee that some other poor woman is being bored to death with her side of this story though.









Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Pull my balls - Part 2

Middle-age men and their missing molars

Parachute men