A few weeks after Hudson died, I went out for a manicure with my cousin and we got to talking about baby-making. Right around the time she and her hubby had been trying to get knocked up, a lot of her friends started announcing their own big news, and my cousin thought to herself, “Stop using up all the pregnancies!”
That’s how I am feeling right now.
A few lovely ladies very close to me are expecting in March. WTF?
This means their little beans were conceived before we even went into labor with Hudson. I know nobody’s out getting knocked up to make me feel crappy. In fact, when they discovered their pregnancies, they probably got that excited feeling tempered with a little knot-in-their-stomach feeling when they thought about what was happening to me, the Hubs, and Baby Dub.
Dudes, babies are never a bad thing. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t cried about the fact that everybody but me seems to be pregnant.
Seriously, ladies, quit using up all the pregnancies.
I want to be pregnant right now. I’d like to be 52 weeks pregnant, but I’d take a brand new pregnancy, too. Now, not 2 months from now.
Don’t worry, I’m not breaking doctor’s orders. We want to give Baby Dub Dos the most cushy uterus and tasty, nutrient-rich placenta out there. So in the meantime, while I can’t be actively trying to get pregnant, the least the rest of my girlfriends could do is lock-it-up. Quit using up all the pregnancies!
When I got the news about my SIL’s pregnancy, one of the first things she said to me after all the congratulatory exclamations was “Is that okay?”
People do not need my permission to become pregnant. I told her as much.
“Of course. You’re allowed to be pregnant.”
But a few minutes later, I went out to the truck and cried a little.
It’s not that I’m upset that somebody else is pregnant. Babies are awesome. I want everybody I love to have one. Have two!
But just because I’m happy for them doesn’t mean the news doesn’t also make me sad for, well, me. Every happy thing in our life right now is served up with a healthy side of sad.
The bonanza of weddings we had to go to this summer was supposed to be our chance to show off our amazing little human. The Hubs could not wait to walk down the aisle at his sister’s wedding with Hudson in the Baby Bjorn rocking some shades and mini-Chucks. Instead we were flying solo and dodging the pity-faces. It kind of sucked.
Friends announcing pregnancies should always be met with squeals of glee. Instead, I’m forcing some pursed-lipped hand-claps and trying not to burst into tears in front of my in-laws.
I am stoked for my pregger friends, but I wish I were them. Trade ya uteruses!? I wish I had the innocent pregnancy happiness, the unshakable belief that pregnancy = baby to bring home.
Don’t get me wrong, when I find out I’m pregnant again, I’m going to throw myself with reckless, fearless abandon into the whole experience, because I can’t make it 9 months worrying that what happened to Hudson could happen again. That’s not how I roll.
My internal monologue when my SIL announced her pregnancy was “I wish I were pregnant right now. I COULD be pregnant right now. I kind of want to go home and pee on a stick.”
A few days later, I got my period. So I guess I’m not pregnant, and I can have that second beer.
Also, I might cry every time I get my period for a while.
Bottom line, I’m not sure how many more pregnancies I can tolerate my friends using up.
Lock it up ladies. Save some for the rest of us.
And by the rest of us, I mean me.