Why I sometimes talk to the internet instead (updated)

A sample of intense, emotional conversations with the beloved:



me – (sitting on the edge of our bed, crying damply) What if I can’t ever get pregnant? (sniff) And what if you can’t get pregnant? Or what if you can, and then I’ll be devastated because you can and I can’t? (blowing nose hard and sniffing some more)

the beloved – I’m sure it will all work out. (rolls over, pulling doona up over her head)

me – But (sniff sniff sniff) what if it doesn’t? What if I do get pregnant and lose the baby? What if it happens again and again? (letting tears splash all over the place)

the beloved – (silence)

me – Well? (sniffing hard)

the beloved – (short silence) Wha? Huh? Oh, I thought we were done talking.



me – (lying in the dark, wide awake and twitchy, about ten weeks before Boofer is born) I’m just wondering what it’s going to be like, having a second baby, being a mother to a non-biological child, being the one going to work…. Did you worry about this stuff?

the beloved – What stuff?

me – Being a non-biological parent?

the beloved – (sighs) No.

me – Being the one going to work?

the beloved – No.

me – I was thinking about buying this book I saw, written by a woman who is a non-biological mother.

the beloved – (long silence)

me – Well?

the beloved – Are you done?



me – (massaging achy jaw and head) Can you pass we some panadol while you’re over there?

the beloved – If you get up and come over here.

me – (sigh) I think I’m grinding my teeth at night again. Probably anxiety.

the beloved – Well you should figure it out and stop.


8 thoughts on “Why I sometimes talk to the internet instead (updated)

  1. It could be worse. At least she asks if you’re done, rather than just embarking immediately onto a detailed description of her latest sporting exploit in response to your explanation of your inner turmoil.

    • This is true. I wonder if that’s a symptom of low engagement with your inner turmoil, or a cunning distraction technique? ie. Oh, I hear sad words coming out and your face seems to be leaking. Quick! Look over there! A sparkling rainbow pony!

  2. Can I share that I haven’t laughed this hard for a long time? Will you take it as a compliment if I admit that I am thrilled, highly amused and simultaneously insanely jealous of your dry Aussie humour, that crazy funny self-depracating sense of taking on the world? I want some, too!! Could I catch it, if I hang around long enough, or is it genetic? What would I need to do to be so deadpan? (And your beloved sounds uncannily like my beloved (love that term and won’t poach it, I promise) in terms of dry, en pointe responses to emotional drama. Sigh…..

    • Why yes, you certainly can share that delightful compliment! Thank you. I’m not sure about the genetics or ethnicity of self-deprecating humour, but there may well be a dark and mysterious conversion ceremony. It’s possible the government demands demonstration of such skills, along with being able to wail the national anthem painfully.

  3. It’s interesting, don’t you think, that the beloved will advertise some of your blog posts on her facebook page, but not others!?

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