No, I’m not pregnant (ho ho ho, worried you there…).
The title being a reference to Coupling, to those of you out of the loop, specifically a description of antenatal classes, specifically a description of pregnant women as a group.
Anyway, no, I’m not pregnant. However I’ve gone on the Pill, about three weeks ago now, and I’ve finally figured out why everything is making me all weepy. The Pill. Duh. I mean, there’s mopey and sad because I’m newly single, but that’s actually an increasingly minuscule proportion of my emotional spectrum right now. I burst into tears watching Mo, which incidentally you definitely should watch, it’s about Mo Mowlam, Ireland, and her brain tumour – anyway, I burst into tears at the end, because one day I’m going to be a grown-up and people I love are going to die, I’m going to have to watch first my parents die, and then, because I’m a woman, probably my husband, and at least one of those people is probably going to get cancer, because that’s the way these things go. And yes, that’s probably true, but it’s not something to cry about decades before it happens and when I haven’t even got a husband to worry about yet. So I got all weepy and waily because they’re all going to die and it’s all so horrible. Which is frankly irrational.
Anyway, I’ll stick with it for a while, I’ll give it two or three months to settle down, because I have a choice to make: The Periods From Hell, once a month, but otherwise being hormonally normal, vs Flowery Emotional Tenthood constantly, with added spots and the sudden ability to eat half a packet of biscuits in one sitting without thinking about it (something I am aware of and thus curbing as best I can). I honestly don’t mind being a bit spotty and putting on a bit of weight – I’m thin enough that I can take it, and my skin is otherwise pretty good, I can deal with this. But if I’m going to cry over every film I watch, if I’m going to get volatile and irrational and all over the place, I’m not doing that, because I’m not necessarily the world’s most sanguine individual to start with, am I? I’d like to think I’m less emotional than I am, but I’m not. This is who I am, and there’s no reason to make that worse, and I’d rather have two or three days of seeming hell, and two or three days before that which are pretty bad, once in a month, than being crazy weepy Jenny. We’ll see.
Of course, apparently, I would be one of the few that (or so it is increasingly appearing) ends up still ending up in stupid quantities of pain. Great. Emotional, mad, and curled up in agony. Fuck you, world.
This is why you know you love me, dear Readers. Because every now and again I show up and I bitch and whine about the gory details of being a woman. That’s why you stick around… .