Baby bumps and wedding blues

My good friend was blissfully and happily married on Saturday evening. And since this is all about me, I can share that I was reminded of an important life lesson. More wine will not lift your spirits if you are fighting the non baby blues. It just gives you a killer of a headache the next day. 

Of course the wedding was wonderful and my friend was truly beautiful in her classic white gown and veil. Early in the reception I made small talk with dear friends and new acquaintances. Unless someone asked me how I was doing — I mean really asked — I was fine. Friendly. Smiley. And looking pretty good. I sailed through a couple of potentially emotional hiccups. Like, talking to my friend about her baby of four months and sympathizing on how tough it can be. I even invited her and her daughter over next week during my day off. Like casually responding to “so do you have kids?”

Dinner came and M and I squeezed into the last seats at our assigned table and I sat beside my very good friend who is four months pregnant and her husband. Ok, feeling a little bit tougher. I drink wine because I can and talked with my glowing, happy mom-to-be friend. She is wearing an empire waist dress and it’s hard to tell if she has a baby bump or a too-many–treats bump. We talked about the house they just bought, work, health, our friends, even our pets. Not a whole lot about her pregnancy — I know she was trying to be sensitive. Her husband…not so much. There were a few times when his actions shot a little pain in my heart. Like when he rubbed her tummy. And this one:

She: Will you please get me a soda water, honey?

He: Of course, because you are having my baby.

Ow, ow, ow, ow (and a little bit of gag me). So she drank soda water and I drank more wine, convinced the alcohol would give me the happy buzz if I just had enough. I realized that the twingeworthy moments were not about my loss, but about my husband and how my miscarriages and infertility are preventing him from creating the family he longs for too. My friend’s husband is so happy. His wife, his love, is having his baby and fulfilling his dream of a family and being a dad. The fact that I have not been able to give M the same kills me.

The next day, post the greasy breakfast, rehydrating gatorade and nap, I talked about this to my husband. Well, half talked and half blubbered. I feel like I am letting him down and if I am not able to give him what he wants then he should find someone who should. He’s so damn loyal I don’t worry about this too much, but I do a bit especially after hearing a couple of horror stories. And should I not let him go if I love him so he can at least be a fulfilled family man? Round and round my brain goes. 

M said he knows I am trying, we both are. Failing him would have been if I decided after we got married that I didn’t want to have kids. Now, I am trying, we both are. And we will continue to be. 

After miscarriage 1 I was consulting with one of the fertility doctors at the clinic — one I don’t normally see. We were talking about trying for another pregnancy and I told her that the infertility issues were mine and that my husband had the boys that could swim. “This is my problem, not his” I said. She looked at me sternly. “We don’t talk that way here,” she said. 

I remember her saying it…I wish I was better at feeling and living it.

When your friends are pregnant and you’re not

One of the hardest things about not knowing if you are ever going to have a baby, is trying to be unselfishly happy for friends who, in a snap, SNAP got pregnant.

The first time I was pregnant, a good friend of mine was also pregnant and a month further along than me. She did it the natural way and it happened the first month they really tried. Just the way it is supposed, huh? When I had the first miscarriage she was the only one of my friends who did not immediately call or write. Look, I know her and avoidance is way of coping. Kind of like Marge Simpson, she puts a smile on her face even when she is completely uncomfortable and upset. It got a little better between us as her pregnancy progressed and I did the right things (generally from a distance — mail and email are helpful tools that way) when her daughter was born.

Tomorrow night I will see a very good friend of mine who also lucked out with a pregnancy. She actually was unknowingly about three weeks or so when she got married in late May. So probably very close to the time her pregnancy began, my second pregnancy was ending the same devestating way as the first. Now she will just about be showing a baby bump.

She told me via email in July. A few of our friends were together the night before and she shared her early good news with some trepidation (she was 9 weeks along after all) and lots of hope and excitement. It was well placed as she has sailed through the first trimester.

It may seem strange she sent it by email. Not very personal. But she knows me and as she said in the email, she wanted me to process and absorb this on my own time. I can’t fault that — although the timing sucked. Not a good way to start the work day especially right before a meeting.

Like before, I know this is hurting or at least interrupting our friendship. My happiness for her is tempered by my own sadness. Any excitement I might feel is tainted by my own anger. Why did she get pregnant right away when I need to cope and deal with infertility, drugs and needles? Why has it been so smooth for her when I had my heart wrenched, not once but twice by miscarriage? Why can’t I be a mom?

I asked my husband the other week if he felt like we were being punished. I know that I am a generally decent person. I try to do good and be good on a regular basis. So why is this happening to us when we want to be parents so bad? Logically, I know karma or some sick deity are not out to get me. At the same end, I also know there is at least a sliver of me deep inside that feels like I must have done something horribly wrong and this is my punishment.

And now, to make things even tougher, my good friend is going through a wonderful exciting time and I can not be there to feel pure joy and support for her. It will drive a wedge — and that means another important part of my life is on hold, crumpled. 

I would like to be the brave, selfless friend who puts aside her own hurts and pain to embrace fully the happiness of others. I hope to be in that emotional place someday. But I can not be there now. It is too soon and I am in this weird netherland where I don’t know if I will be able to have baby. Or if I never will.

Babies can change everything, right? I have heard — first hand and otherwise– that it’s hard for a mom to relate to her non parent friends. Her life revolves around this bright shiny being. What if you feel like a parent deep in your heart? What makes a mom? Someone who has hoped all of her life for a baby? Someone who went through tests and expensive drugs and miscarriages just to have one? Someone who felt twinges, puked if she didn’t eat breakfast and her body change as the new embryo, new life took hold? 

I don’t have baby to hold or care for. Technically and on every logical count I am not a mom. Outside nothing has changed. Inside everything has.