Lately I've been having compulsive feelings. This pull is nothing new. My whole life I've dealt with compulsions of varying degrees of destruction.
I'm feeling like I want to be pregnant again.
I mean, not really. This past time knocked the piss out of me. But I look all around me. So many friends expecting second babies, friends of friends and moms in music class. And I'm envious.
Let me reiterate: I DO NOT WANT TO BE PREGNANT AGAIN. But. There's this nagging little feeling, like a voice saying, "Just do it. Just one more time. One more baby . . ." It's like I'm addicted to being pregnant.
I know where this voice comes from. It comes from the same place it's always come from. The need to have more; more will make it better, more will make things right, and whole, and fun, and, and, and. Just one more won't hurt; just one more will make everything OK. One more sale, one more drink, one more puff, one more date . . . and after all these one mores I'm still right back from where I thought I'd gotten past. Going back for more always gets me where I don't want to be.
The smell of a cigarette almost always makes me gag, but then there's those moments when the smell draws me in, beckons, just one drag, remember that feeling . . . So, too, does the thought of pregnancy make me feel--NO WAY IN HELL but maybe, oh, it was so nice . . .
There's always something more. The success rate of inhabitants of my uterus making it out alive is barely 67%. No matter how many babies I could have it would never get to 100%. But there's the pull . . .
I'm envious, I guess, of that blissfully naive pregnancy. I'm envious of other people's plans going smoothly, babies arriving whole and healthy without a second thought of anything going wrong. I'm envious of people who don't everyone sad; envious of the pregnant woman no one worries every second about.
It's always envy that fuels my compulsions. I have most of them in check. Finding the peace in having enough is always my challenge.