In Miles preschool class, five of his classmates mothers are pregnant. Another six have siblings under six months old. The rest already have older children. I am the only one with just one. Well there was one other but she moved her son to a different school.
This wouldn’t be so bad but it’s one of those schools that is all about community. And that community likes to jump in and help a family in need. A family in need is one that has a newborn. So biweekly these days, I receive emails congratulating yet another family on the birth of yet another fricking kid and asking that we cook a meal to help the tired parents.
No! I am sorry I cant do it. I cant smile at their bulging bellies, ooh and aah over their wrinkly newborn or even feign empathy watching them negotiate a Snap and go while their three year old runs into the street. I am bitter. Bitter that for them, this is the hard part. I am tired of waiting and trying, of hoping and praying and being pissed off and bitter at the mothers of my son’s friends. Why is it me that has to inject myself with endless hormones, gulp down herbs, go for weekly acupuncture and everything else one is supposed to do and still come out empty-armed? Age? Maybe although one of the moms is also 40 and conceived as soon as she started using a Clear Blue Digital Fertility Monitor. Oh if it were so easy!
OK done with the vent. And yes, I know I am lucky I don’t have cancer, we live in a nice house, I have a great husband and my son is the cutest thing in the world. But it still doesn’t seem fair.
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