There has been a lot of chatter over the blogs lately about how many BFPs there have been in the last few weeks. I mean, CRAZY amounts of BFPs. You’d think we were a blog community of fertile teens who all came back from a wild prom weekend where we decided not to use condoms.
But seriously. The only way I could be more thrilled about all of this happy news is if I had a baby in my ute right along with all of you fine, brave women. It seems so fun to be able to share in the experience of pregnancy as a group.
I’ve realized in thinking about all of this that “jealousy” isn’t an adjective I’d use to describe how it feels to be an anovulatory dud in a room full of pregnant women. Jealousy is angry, nasty, mean. It is the bitch inside that says, “I can’t believe SHE has this (thing that I want). I DESERVE it more than she does.” I have none of these feelings. I am ecstatic for all of you. As someone who has been fascinated enough by pregnancy that I am actually going back to school to become an NP in Women’s Health, I totally enjoy reading every single one of your pregnancy symptoms, even if I can’t relate (yet…please God, let there be a time when I can relate).
No, what I’m experiencing is not jealousy. I believe it’s a fear of being left behind. Of being forgotten. Of losing a bunch of women who were part of my “group”, and seeing them all move on together to form a new clique that I can’t be a part of until I have a baby all up in there. It all probably harkens back to Jr. High School when I was ditched by my only two friends, and had to spend a few months eating alone in the drama room until I made a new group of friends.
It feels like Grover is trying to point me out as the little circle:
I know that pregnancy doesn’t necessarily mean that you forget about “the ones you left behind”, but it certainly creates a demarcation line. That being said, with infertility, even pregnancy does not create a relaxed feeling that we’re “out of the trenches.” I see with each new BFP I read about how tentatively and gingerly everyone puts their toes into the “waters” of pregnancy.
Just don’t forget about little ole anovulatory me, eating lunch in the drama room and writing bad poetry. I’ll still be here until I get knocked up on my prom night.