Babies are everywhere

i can't get away from babies. it is like the most cruel torture imaginable. i know i've said before that it seems like as soon as you want a baby (and can't seem to get pregnant) babies and round pregnant bellies turn up just about everywhere. i know i'm not the only one who feels this way. i've read it and heard it from several others. it's just heartbreaking sometimes. this week has been especially tough. last weekend i found out that chris's cousin is pregnant. i don't really know why i was surprised. i know she's wanted kids for a long time and she planned on getting pregnant as soon as possible after she married. it was so hard for me to accept though. first, it was the fact that i was totally unprepared for it. like she mentioned it like i should already have known about it (which apparently i should have because chris knew but forgot that i wasn't the one who told him about it so was assuming the whole time that i knew--don't ask me how that happens. i still don't know). the second thing is that she just. got. married. seriously. like 6 months ago. and she's already nearly halfway through her pregnancy. how unbelievably unfair is that? we've been trying longer than she's been married. that makes my stomach sink just thinking about it. the fact that it is just so easy for some people. like your husband probably just looked at you and you got pregnant. and i can't help but feel resentment--not just towards her but towards all women who don't have to chart. don't have to take pills. don't have to plan and think and schedule all to figure out that short window of time (if there is one at all) where pregnancy is possible. so far it doesn't even seem like i have a window. the part of the weekend that was the absolute worst was when her husband looked me in the face and asked me--in front of everyone--when i was going to get busy on having a baby. you know those experiences when you feel like you are lifted out of your body and you can see yourself completely outside of yourself? yeah, that version of me went nuts. all i could think about doing was screaming. and inside i was. but, of course, i couldn't say a think. i couldn't even make eye contact for fear i would lose control. that's probably the one thing that is worse than dealing with infertility to begin with--not being able to talk about it. you can't tell people because they will feel awful and get those pitiful looks on their faces. but keeping it inside while smiling on the outside seems like betrayal too. because it was just easier, i just gave my usual answer and tried to change the subject. it was torture. and after we left, i sobbed in the car. i'm tired of crying in the car. crying behind closed doors. crying when no one else can see me. i have taken to heart a passage in shauna niequist's book bittersweet that talks about how we are called to share in the joys and sorrows of one another. i try to hard to rejoice with those to rejoice. partly it's because i do love to share in that joy. but partly because i know i can't expect people to mourn with me if i can't rejoice with them. but i feel like it's hard to share the things that i am mourning over. it's hard to be vulnerable like that. so hard.