SlowPoly
Active member
Fifteen weeks, nearly sixteen. Mitch still hasn't told his family of origin that he is gonna have a kid. He told his team at work for scheduling purposes. A colleague he no longer works with heard through someone else, and sent him congratulations, but her curiosity about me went unanswered. So, whoopee, I'm an abstract reality to the colleagues he keeps at a professional distance. But I'm not even known to exist by his family or most of his (long distance) friends. The couple of friends who have ever heard of me don't know about the pregnancy.
I don't want to care about this. I want it to be okay with me that he's too busy, or it isn't urgent enough yet, or he's just waiting for the perfect timing. I accepted long ago that everything takes time with him, and that fully enmeshing our lives would never happen. I knew that some, but not all, of that outlook would change when we decided to have a child together.
But I am starting to feel resentful. I know he's not ashamed of me. I know he's just letting his default privacy settings run things as long as he can. I know he avoids conflict and drama. I imagine he is apprehensive about how each conversation will change each relationship. I know it's a huge step in realizing the life-altering shift of this nine-month moment. I know he's very busy at work right now. I know his telling or not telling them doesn't affect the reality of the pregnancy. I know all this. He is here for me and is usually willing to give me what I ask for day to day. But.
Honestly? I feel ignored. Outwardly, not in our interactions as a dyad. Does that even make sense? I feel negated. Hidden. I need acceptance. To be known. To matter. I want to be embraced as family, at least by him. I don't know what that means to him. I don't know what he and I are supposed to be building, if it's not a family we can identify with and share with our other families of loved ones and (in a limited way) with the bit of human society that just happens to touch our lives. I have a family with Woof and our boys, and a family of origin, and a chosen family of friends. They coexist without a whole lot of interaction these days, but each family knows they matter to me, and that the others matter, too. I think of Mitch and I (and the one on the way) as another family unit, but it's so separate and unacknowledged (on his side) that I'm starting to feel -- unauthentic? -- about calling it a family.
I didn't do a good job of communicating all of this when it came down on my head. Mostly I felt tired and sad and hoped I'd sleep on it then sort it out on my own without looking too grumpy on the outside. But I guess I communicated enough that he said two things to me this morning.
He said he'd tell his mom. (I don't want it to matter to me.) (But it's obvious it does.)
He said he would think about how he defines the word "family" - something he has never really thought of before, or thought mattered. (I don't care whether you tell others I'm your "family." I want *you* to think of us as family.)
This is as rocky as it gets, really. I'm supposed to have the tools for dealing with this. I do. I just hate it when I can't talk myself out of feeling grumpy over expectations. Hate it when the rational can't conquer the conditioned neediness.
I don't want to care about this. I want it to be okay with me that he's too busy, or it isn't urgent enough yet, or he's just waiting for the perfect timing. I accepted long ago that everything takes time with him, and that fully enmeshing our lives would never happen. I knew that some, but not all, of that outlook would change when we decided to have a child together.
But I am starting to feel resentful. I know he's not ashamed of me. I know he's just letting his default privacy settings run things as long as he can. I know he avoids conflict and drama. I imagine he is apprehensive about how each conversation will change each relationship. I know it's a huge step in realizing the life-altering shift of this nine-month moment. I know he's very busy at work right now. I know his telling or not telling them doesn't affect the reality of the pregnancy. I know all this. He is here for me and is usually willing to give me what I ask for day to day. But.
Honestly? I feel ignored. Outwardly, not in our interactions as a dyad. Does that even make sense? I feel negated. Hidden. I need acceptance. To be known. To matter. I want to be embraced as family, at least by him. I don't know what that means to him. I don't know what he and I are supposed to be building, if it's not a family we can identify with and share with our other families of loved ones and (in a limited way) with the bit of human society that just happens to touch our lives. I have a family with Woof and our boys, and a family of origin, and a chosen family of friends. They coexist without a whole lot of interaction these days, but each family knows they matter to me, and that the others matter, too. I think of Mitch and I (and the one on the way) as another family unit, but it's so separate and unacknowledged (on his side) that I'm starting to feel -- unauthentic? -- about calling it a family.
I didn't do a good job of communicating all of this when it came down on my head. Mostly I felt tired and sad and hoped I'd sleep on it then sort it out on my own without looking too grumpy on the outside. But I guess I communicated enough that he said two things to me this morning.
He said he'd tell his mom. (I don't want it to matter to me.) (But it's obvious it does.)
He said he would think about how he defines the word "family" - something he has never really thought of before, or thought mattered. (I don't care whether you tell others I'm your "family." I want *you* to think of us as family.)
This is as rocky as it gets, really. I'm supposed to have the tools for dealing with this. I do. I just hate it when I can't talk myself out of feeling grumpy over expectations. Hate it when the rational can't conquer the conditioned neediness.