Everyone around me is pregnant. Or has spent the last 9 months being pregnant. It’s hard. It’s hard to be happy for everyone. I know its totally unreasonable and completely selfish, but I’m really struggling to feign interest and excitement for people.
My social media is filled with bumps and babies. A few work colleagues have been busy thrusting new baby photos in my direction, and I know I’m expected to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ and ask “what did she weigh”, “was it a long labour” – when really – I couldn’t give a shit. It’s not MY pregnancy, its not MY labour, or MY baby. I’m still waiting here at back at page 1, so take your happiness and shove it.
OK OK.. I don’t mean that. Not all the time anyway. I AM happy for people, of course I am. I’m not the devil incarnate… I’m not a horrible person. it’s just that my happiness is occasionally overshadowed by my.. well.. jealousy.
Cos that’s what it is isn’t it? I’m jealous. I can admit it. I’m jealous of the people that have 3 babies or “accidentally ” fell pregnant, or the people that instagram their bumps. It’s bloody hard.
I have MRI appointments and also with a genetics clinic to see if there’s something in my genealogy that’s causing the problems. The doctors really don’t know what’s going on, but I appreciate everything they’re doing for me. I would love for something to come back and say “Yup Mrs McGowan, this little thing here is the reason. Take this pill and fix it. Now go have babies”…. but I’m really not confident it’s going to go that way.