That's odd

I stopped by the cemetery yesterday to check on Nick. When I got home, G stopped himself before asking how he was doing. It's weird. Today I thanked him for being such a wonderful father. He admitted The Boy had turned out okay, after all, anyway. I told him he was a father to more than just The Boy, and he joked the dogs had turned out okay in the end, too. We sort of had to chuckle at that. We've raised one Boy and many animals in our 18 years together. That counts for something. Somehow he can't quite bring himself to include the babies we've lost. Nick is really the only one he grieves, because he was the only one that seemed real. He got to hold him, and count all his parts, and see the chin-dimple that rivals his own.
The others just seem like a passing glint of hope.
I suppose it is for this reason that we don't discuss making more. He knows I want more, and I'm still trying, but he doesn't want to be all wrapped up in the process. After we lost the little girl, he told me he was done. That's it. No mas. Nyet. Fin. I told him I was not done yet, and bargained with him for one more shot. I told him I could not handle another late loss, but an early loss would be tolerable. He said 'whatever', and the discussion was shelved. Secretly, I intended to keep any future pregnancies to myself until "the danger zone" was passed; I now know, however, that is the funniest damn idea I've had. The whole time is a fucking danger zone. But, I told myself, if I could make it past 16 weeks or 20 weeks... huh. Yeah. Then it would seem like something tangible and I'd give up. Throw a few 6-13 week losses in there and I could almost overlook them. Almost. I'm not made of stone, you know. (Please understand this in the sarcastic tone I am famous for). To explain this a little better, in case I'm talking in circles, we are trying. He knows we're trying. It's not being done in some clandestine secret manner that would shock him to find the half-used vial of hcg sitting in the door of the fridge. We just don't discuss it. He doesn't want to know how sticky my snatch snot is, what my temp was this morning, or what cycle day I'm at. He knows that when he is summoned to perform, he is getting hassle-free nookie, and that alone is worth it.
For this weekend's screwapalooza, after the third forced insemination, it sort of went into a downward spiral. I couldn't even perform, and that's almost impossible. I'll back up here by saying that the hubster never has difficulty finding the wherewithal to do his duty. I'd go so far as to say he finds it almost enjoyable. So I erroneously assumed that this time should be no different. We're putting away laundry, The Boy is out doing whatever it is 17 year old boys do, and I lock us in the room. No response. I begin to undress. No response. I start to undress him. "What are you doing?"
Checking on the package, darlin'... why don't you come over here and let me handle it with care... (or something else slightly less grody, I forget).
"You sure want to get pregnant again, don't you?"
That was it.
That one phrase right there ruined me for the rest of Saturday on into today.
I can't explain it.
Maybe that's how they (The Men) feel when they know they're being used. I don't know. Thing is, 'I'm' not being used, and there's no reason why that conversation needed to affect me so.
The rest of the conversation was about as exhausting as our sloppy attempt to complete the transaction.
What are you talking about?
"You, wanting all this sex all of a sudden."
So, I like to make love with my husband... nothing wrong with that.
"It's just weird. I know what you're up to."
What I'm "up to"?
"Well, aren't you hoping to get knocked up?"
Are you new here?
"Nevermind, I shouldn't complain."
Right, so just shut up and do me.
But it was sad. Pathetic. Miserable. I've never felt so... ashamed? I can't find the right word.
This is our last attempt at impregnation for a while. I can't say how long of a while, because I'll be 37 soon. Maybe I'll give it up all together. But I can't. I just can't. I can't give up, but I also can't continue. I've had it. I have other things I need to be focusing on, and this just ain't no fun no more. Because it was such a fucking hoot in the past. Whee.
The hubster is accepting an opportunity to travel more than he has in been in the past 10 years. Instead of being based one small state away, he will be driving far and wide for weeks at a time, taking in the country's charms and "taking a break" from whatever it is he needs a break from. On some twisted level I wonder if it is me, but I do know that his current job is taking it's toll on us all. Maybe he needs this. Maybe I do. I don't have any answers. I don't even have any questions. I just am.