There were seven weeks in the five years when I enjoyed seeing pregnancy announcements on Facebook and receiving baby shower invitations in the mail. Those seven weeks were the weeks Brett and I were pregnant. It was fleeting, but it was blissful.
Now, it’s a different story.
A sadder story.
I hate that I hate your baby announcement.
I hate that I can’t be immediately happy for you because I’m too absorbed with being sad for me.
Every baby announcement on Facebook – regardless of how close the family member or friend – is a reminder of my lack there of.
I can get through the day, the week, the month living happily with the positivity that this next cycle will be “the one” – finally! I can stay in that happy and positive bubble until your announcement gives me pause. Then I’m rudely awakened into the reality that I’m 33 and childless. That I only have 2 more years until I have a statistically old uterus – which is a SHORT time when you know you’ve been trying for 5.
I hate that I hate your baby shower invitation.
I hate that I have to debate whether or not I’m going to respond to your baby shower RSVP. That I’m going to contemplate making up some reason that will prevent me from having to sit through watching you hold your pregnant belly for two hours.
I hate that your baby shower invitation reminds me of what I was planning for our angel baby’s shower. I hate that I can’t watch you host your family and friends without enviously picturing myself in your place.
I hate having to fein excitement when my mother-in-law tells me the next so-and-so that’s pregnant.
I hate that I hate your happy news. It means that I’m not as ‘over’ or ‘dealing with’ my sad news as I want to be. It makes me feel like a bad person. I love you and I love your baby. Ultimately, I will be – and am- happy for you.
Don’t mind me while I’m feeling sorry for myself. I hate that I hate. But I do love you.