This is a hard post to write. It’s probably going to make me sound like an ungrateful, selfish, jealous b!tch. And maybe all that’s true, but I’m trying not to be and what’s that expression? The first step is admitting you have a problem? Well here I am, admitting it. And it’s making me feel horrible.
Let me back up. I had a miscarriage back in August. At the time I got pregnant we weren’t technically trying but we were ttthhhiiiisss close to starting to try so I was over the moon excited. Of course that meant I was devastated when I miscarried, even though in many ways I was lucky because it was very early on. Based on what all the doctors told me, I thought we would give a go again, and just like that, boom, we’d be pregnant again. So each month, I drag Rob into the bedroom when I think the timing is right. Then for two weeks I hyper-analyze every potential “symptom” until I convince myself this is the month. Of course, that means I’m absolutely devastated each month when my period does show up, just like clockwork. I tell myself each month, “Don’t get your hopes up” and each month, that is exactly what I do.
It’s like a sickness, I truly can’t seem to stop myself. Of course this is putting totally unnecessary pressure on Rob, on me, on my body, on things that just can’t be controlled. I’m actually tearing up in anger at myself right now thinking about it. It’s been 9 months of hopes and disappointment. Two weeks of waiting for the prime day to get busy and then two weeks of reading pregnancy blogs, monitoring my moods, my appetite, my body, my energy level – you name it – and then a day or two of crushing disappointment and self-doubt. Can I really get pregnant? Why isn’t it working? Are we doing something wrong? Am I ovulating properly? Is something wrong with me? <—Notice how much self-blame there is? I rarely think, what if Rob’s sperm count is low or anything like that. No, I focus all that negative energy directly on me. Like I’ve deemed myself the person who must take all the weight of this problem.
So here’s what happened yesterday. I very innocently received an email from a close friend of mine saying she was pregnant. I knew they had been trying and I’m so so happy for her and her husband. But what was my first reaction? I saw the darkest shade of jealousy-green that I have ever experienced. Luckily, I was at work, so on the outside at least, I managed to hold it together. But on the inside, I turned into the brattiest child on earth. If I could have, I would have thrown myself on the ground and kicked, screamed and cried. I had this non-stop cycle going around in my head that sounded so jealous, so mean, so freaking ungrateful for my life, that I was actually horrified. 
By the time I got to the car that night, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I was crying the big weepy tears, gasping for air. It was really a combination of being so painfully jealous of someone that I love and am truly happy for and being really mad at myself because I know I need to grow up. Of course those thoughts would send me down a self-shaming spiral of thoughts about how I even thought I was fit to be a mother when I was behaving this way and how I was so ungrateful for the many blessings I already have. Ugh, what an ugly cycle.
On the way home, I couldn’t even hear the radio, my thoughts were so loud. I actually cancelled meeting up with a mutual friend for a Run-Bike-Run because I didn’t think I could manage to show pure happiness at the news. At the time I thought it made me a bad friend, but now, as I’m writing this, maybe it was me being a good friend because at least I wasn’t sharing my caustic mood.
Instead I drove to the store with every intention of buying whatever it is a person uses to take a bubble bath. I thought this would relax me. Here’s why that is ridiculous. I hate baths of any kind. We have a huge bath tub in our master bathroom and when they were building it I tried several times to convince the builder to take it out and put in a bigger shower. The tub has never been filled. Yet, here I was, a green-eyed monster, looking for bubble bath. Except I had no idea what to buy, so I ended up with this: 
Rob got a big kick out of this when he saw it. To his credit, he knew right away what I had been trying for. Needless to say, I didn’t end up taking a bubble bath. Because I also found this at the store. 
I’m a little embarrassed to say that I bought it and baked it and in some ways, it was exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t want some fancy pastry or some homemade cake. I wanted sugar and fat and chemicals and something that was as awful for me as I was feeling. Does that even make sense?
Luckily, by the time I had baked them and made dinner, I was pretty much over my pity party. Today, I’m still feeling that twinge of jealousy but I’m not overwhelmed by it. And I can really feel the happiness for my dear friend that she deserves. Congratulations to them! 
worthyness 