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.. I do know that my grans sister had 4, but there was a history of domestic violence there so I’m not sure if it’s linked or sheer coincidence. I’ve said it before.. I’ll take any tests they give me. Give me them all!!