Recently I had occasion to revisit the "miscarriage years," 2004-2006. A friend of mine is experiencing heartbreak in this area, and I bought her some alcohol to dull the pain.
And I started talking and reliving a bit of that time. I haven't been back there in a long time. It took me 2 1/2 years start to finish to get Brody. It seemed like an eternity. I remember the first time I figured out how long it took us to have a child, and thinking how short a time frame that was. I think that every single time I say "it took us 2 1/2 years." That can't be right, can it? Two and a half years felt like four lifetimes, at least.
And now Brody's been here 2 1/2 years, and it feels like he's been here my whole life.
Some friends of my husband sent out an email this week joyfully announcing they are expecting. And my reaction? "You naive, stupid fools."
Nice, aren't I?
I have found I have two categories of pregnant people: people I like and respect, whether I know them that well or not, and everyone else. If I like and respect you, then none of the following applies. If you are everyone else, the following does apply to you, and there is pretty much nothing you can do to change it. Because in the truest sense, this has nothing to do with you.
This is what I do, what I cannot stop myself from doing, what I am compelled to do, when I find out if someone in the second group is pregnant:
1. First, my heart sinks into my stomach. You know that feeling. You get it when you get bad news. I got it when I read about people dying and I got it when I found out a friend didn't conceive this month.
2. Then the voice inside says, "Another one." As if there are only a certain amount of healthy pregnancies allotted and allowed on this planet, and if someone else gets one, then my chances for having one decrease.
3. Calculate how far along they are to see if they are out of the 1st trimester. If they are not, I shake my head and wonder how anyone could be so naive (I was this naive once. Once.) (This does not apply to you who just announced on her blog, because you are in the first group).
4. Figure out how long they've been trying. If you have been trying for a while, say six months or more? Then you get a great big well-wish from me. If not? If you are the fertile perfect person who says "I'd like to get pregnant in January, because I already have a newborn Halloween costume picked out," and it happens for you justlikethat? Probably I will bear some resentment towards you.
(Caveat: if you have lost a pregnancy, or have had trouble conceiving, have a sick child, you are automatically exempt from every single one of my petty grievances. You are part of the sisterhood. You have street cred, as it were. You know what heartbreak is. You, I'm truly happy for you)
And I'm not even trying to get pregnant. And I already have a child. Which, to me, makes me all the more ridiculous for torturing myself.
So this is the question I've been asking myself since I saw the latest email with ultrasound pics attached: will I ever read an announcement of a pregnancy and not feel a twinge of resentment, a dollop of envy, and smidgen of heartache?