Things that need to get off my chest: Creating Life
Stress . . . Nausea . . . I feel the pressure. . .
I have been feeling nauseate off and on everyday for the last three weeks. I have had sensitive smell, dizziness, crying sessions, only spotting (not a full female cycle), slight cramps, and back pains. However I have taken two tests one came out funky, instead of a pink line, the entire area was pink. So I took another and it says negative.
However I still feel nauseated, and if is the damn test is accurate then, I’m depressed. Ever since that damn dream my views on several things have changed.
I felt so much pressure. . . Tom wants a few kids, I want a few kids (one of each). . . and yet I see all of these people around us who are pregnant or who have gotten their girl pregnant and they aren’t even decent people (they fight with each other or ignore each other) as Tom and I knew they would be those neglectful parents. Tom’s cousin is one of the biggest jerks I met; he treats his girlfriend and family like shit. I don’t care if his father died in jail or the fact it is some big joke. . . he breaks everything he touches and now his girlfriend is pregnant and he just totally his brother’s motorbike. Why do jerks like that get to have kids and I am still struggling-we are struggling?
It sucks, because Hollywood is two parts Sex and Violence Versus Family. They push thin and beautiful or to become pregnant . . . in the last three weeks I have seen probably over a hundred commercials, shows, and/or movies that have to do with pregnancy.
I am addicted to a show called “I didn’t know I was pregnant” and I just have this feeling that one day I am going to be those stories. Next month I want to get this new exercise equipment called the Ab-lounge and I know the minute I start to work out. . . I will lose some weight and then out of nowhere I will be pregnant. I have noticed that fitness usually is the biggest factor where women don’t see the signs.
I just we’ll see. . . Maybe I could still be pregnant with a negative test. . .