so. ok. I’ve been drinking. so what. so have you.
I’ve been looking up people I’ve slept with on facebook. So what. I’m human.
I’ve been looking up people I’ve been friends with on facebook. So what. So have you.
Here’s the thing. I am closely approaching 30. Which means that all of those aforementioned people
are having babies.
The people I slept with, the people I did drugs with, the people I don’t even really remember from my graduating class in High School… they’re all having (OR HAVE HAD MULTIPLE) babies.
So.
I cannot have children. I don’t know if this has been mentioned before.
Probably not.
It’s not something I talk about.
It was the cause of my first divorce, and the result of a horrible awfulness in my late teens, scarred me for life literally and figuratively, and whatever whatever.
Anyway.
Babies.
Can’t have kids.
Makes me want them so much more, I think.
I am so proud of Emily and Rachel. (and Karly and Brad and Charlie and Vanessa and Courtney and Kelly and Kasi… and that’s all I can think about off the top of my head…) I can’t even express it. You all are so much the people I knew you could be in High School, and more. You are amazing parents, lovely pregnant women, and the envy of my heart. I love you all, and I wish you the best of futures, for you and your children.
With that being said:
I have never felt such ugly envy as I have seeing a girl I used to know in High School, pregnant.
I know. I’m a pig; I should not project my awfulness.
I should feel wonderful for her (which, of course, I do) and come to her baby shower and laugh at the stupid jokes and not worry that I’m the oldest one there.
I am grateful for what I have, and mourn, of course, for what I’ve lost, but I still wonder what my place in the world is, RE: motherhood? I mean… Isn’t it about time?
Or is MY BODY AND THE GREAT SPIRIT waiting for something? ‘Cause I’d like to be a bit clued in, here.
Ok.
I’m not ready to have a baby.
I’m not done living my life, and “BABY” means “STOP” in my language.
But.
The miracle it would be,
would be a miracle.
And, since Rachel Brown has already called DIBS on Emma; I will call her Lily, or him Judah. Or her Olivia. Or him Stephen. Or her Violet. Or him Joseph. Or her Rose.
Or her Amy. Because I said I would, a long time ago, and so did Andy, and he didn’t. I didn’t even know her.
