Impulse control

David told me I have poor impulse control.
No, we weren't fighting and no, he wasn't being mean.
We were actually discussing the lingering affects of my crappy childhood.

I told him he should watch it cause my poor impulse control might lead me to punch him in the head.

Then we both laughed heartily.

Of course, after I thought about it a minute I told him that he had no idea what he was talking about. Not that he's wrong, just that he doesn't know the half of it.

My struggles with infertility are a great example. I do get mouthy. Though a good 90% of the time, it's a conscious decision to do so. Now, I do have a very Irish temper, so believe me, there is that 10% of the time that I'm just blurting shit out. But most of the time, I've been thinking about it and decided I'm making a stand.

When it comes to discussion my struggles, I'm quite certain that people think I'm socially retarded and just don't know when to shut the hell up. No. I realize it's not socially acceptable to talk about such personal issues. I just don't care.

That's why when someone asks when we're going to get around to having babies, I answer honestly. "We've been trying for quite some time. I had a miscarriage in January. So, really, anytime now would be great." (Or something like that.) Of course, people usually gape and then mutter something like "oh, umm, well, umm, I didn't know.. .. oh look, I think someone over there needs me....." and they scurry off. I'm perfectly aware that I've made them uncomfortable. I just don't care. And depending on my mood, I'm sometimes even quite pleased with myself. They've asked a too-personal question, so I give them a too-personal answer.

Now, the thing about impulse control is that people (ahem, my husband) might think that's an example of it. It's not. That's a very controlled response. Poor impulse control would be if I started sobbing the moment they ask. That's my gut instinct. Or if I were to start screaming at them about what incredibly insensitive fucking morons they are and they should never, ever say the word baby in my presence again as long as they live. That's an impulse. It is controlled.

However, sometimes it does get out of control. I had - not quite "words" - but an "uncomfortable moment," let's call it, with a coworker this week.

It started out controlled but then I got mad and a little mean and that poor impulse control thing reared its ugly head.

GFHSFM is a woman who sits right next to me at work. We are seperated by a small cubicle wall so she hears everything. She knows my whole story. She's 2 years older than me and has 7 children at home. She's actually usually very sensitive about all of my bullshit and is ordinarily someone I would consider a good-fertile. (As opposed to the smug-fertiles as a good-fertile friend once dubbed them.)


Our conversation went as follows:

GFHSFM (good-fertile having smug-fertile moment): I saw the BEST. MOVIE. EVER. last weekend!

Me: Yeah?

GFHSFM: Yes! "Knocked Up!"

Me: (impulse control kicks in, I stifled the urge to say "Are you fucking dumb?" and "Jesus, must everyone tell me about this fucking movie!?") Oh. Um.. Yeah.. I heard that was pretty good. Just not the sort of thing I'm rushing out to see currently.

GFHSFM: But you *HAVE* to! It's SO FREAKING FUNNY.

Me: (Impulse control still okay, I don't say "I don't have to do shit, and if I ever thought I might see it, you saying I *HAVE* to just killed it.") Yeah.. my whole life is about trying to have a baby. Going to see a movie about a woman who gets pregnant accidently by a one night stand isn't exactly my cup of tea.

GFHSFM: *waves hand dismissively* Oh.. well, after all that, you simply MUST go see it.

Me: (Impulse control caught in the draft of her hand wave, feels face flush and mouth open) Yeah. Baby recently died.. thanks but no..

GFHSFM: What? Did something else happen recently?

Me: (all reason has ceased) Oh, I'm sorry, it was 6 months ago, I guess I SHOULD be over it by now.

GFHSFM: Oh Trish, don't be like that.

Me: (impulse control kicks back in. I don't throw a stapler at her. Instead, I put my head down and go back to my job while taking a few deep breaths.




Now, I know she meant no harm. I think it was the hand wave that sent me over the edge. And there was a split second of thought that was "I'm not backing down. I've essentially told her to drop it. She's got to understand soon that this isn't cool." that if I'd have ignored, we probably would have never gotten to that point.

My comment about the dead baby thing was over the line. I know that. Ten percent took over and I was totally at the "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FERTILE BITCH" stage. But seriously, when I start with a polite response indicating that I'm just not in an emotional place to handle this, please just SHUT THE FUCK UP.

So. Yeah. I might have an impulse control problem. Score one for the husband.