I feel like a terrible person. Let’s put that out on the table first thing. I do not like who I have become since trying to start our family. I’m working on it.
That said, one of my coworkers is pregnant. Very pregnant. I don’t know her due date because I have avoided her as much as possible since I first heard mention of her pregnancy. Her shower is next week. This popped up in my email inbox the other day:
The thing is, she doesn’t deserve my bitterness. At all. I know she’s been through fertility treatments, and although I don’t know for sure, I am reasonably certain that this baby is an IVF baby. I know she had some trouble conceiving her first child as well. She’s been through the ringer, and I (of all people!) should be happy for her. Hell, I should be happy for her REGARDLESS of what she went through to conceive this baby. I’ve got to let this go.
Somehow, though, it’s worse with her. She’s done with the pills and the injections and whatever else. It worked for her. “All” she has to worry about now is delivering a healthy baby. I am jealous beyond belief, and I want nothing more than to throw an epic tantrum and ditch her shower.
Will I be in any shape to sit merrily through a baby shower on Tuesday? No. I will be one week into my two week wait. I’ll probably be a mess. I know she’d understand if I dropped by her office with a gift and bowed out gracefully. We only talk in passing—usually in the restroom—but she knows I’m trying to get pregnant. We’ve made quiet jokes to each other about pills and needles and checkbooks. I have to go, though. I know I do. It’s the right thing to do.
So, I will suck it up and put on my big girl panties. I will bring one of the hand knit baby hats that all of the women here have come to expect for their babies, and I will try not to wonder when the hell it’s going to be my turn to sit at the front of the room demonstrating onesies on my belly.
I’d better get to knitting that hat.