No, not crazed zombies, giant spiders or blood thirsty vampires. No, in my life at the moment it's adorable babies and the families of the incredibly fertile. It's Tax Free Weekend in Texas. That means two things...school starts tomorrow and hundreds, thousands, possibly even MILLIONS of families doing they're last minute school supply and clothes shopping.
When we moved to Texas last year, we painstakingly chose our suburb because of the great schools and high percentage of young families. One day, I'll probably appreciate that more than I do right now. For now, every trip to the grocery store, mall, church, or any other errand yields anyone's fair share of adorable baby smiles and unloading clown cars (otherwise known as minivans). They're everwhere and I'm outnumbered. This weekend only makes it more obvious.
These days, I'm acutely aware that I have no idea what lengths that couple behind me in the checkout line went to in their quest to add that bouncing baby to their family (and they're grocery cart). That brings me some peace, for a bit. But, then I'm reminded that for every couple that's granted the extra time to painstakingly plan every detail of their baby's journey to existence, there's many more that decided to TTC and were granted their BFP that same month. And, for each of them, there are even more that didn't even decide to TTC, but got their BFP anyway. Outnumbered.
It's not only my "perfect for young families" suburb, though. I'm outnumbered in my real life, too, and that only complicates the problem. I know that I'm preaching to the choir hear, but it sucks to be the 1 in 5. You see, I knew four other couples who decided to start trying this year. All four got their BFPs on that very first month. And all four almost immediately forgot that fleeting feeling of uncertainty in the 2ww. And none ever understood the feeling of disappointment that goes along with repeated cycles. I'm certain that none of them can relate, truly relate, to terrible SA results or the anxiety (yet hope) I feel about our upcoming urologist appointment. That much was proven by the near silence on the other end of the line when I explained the results and what they meant to my best friend (one of the four). And that was after weeks of hearing "I'm at peace that it'll turn out great" on the other end of the phone line. Not so much, but thanks. None of it was a surprise really, but that doesn't make it any easier.
I didn't really ever want to be that girl. No one ever wants to have trouble starting their family, I suppose. But, I also never wanted to be the woman that felt incredibly bitter at the sight of the bouncing baby or the unloading clown car. Nor did I want to be the girl that caused strain in her oldest relationship just because her best friend was pregnant and she wasn't.
I end up taking total blame for whatever strain there is because I feel like I should be able to put my baggage on the shelf and be the good friend I used to be...that I want to be. But, the "blame" isn't entirely mine, is it? I purposely don't talk about the myriad of things that can go wrong during a pregnancy or point out things they do that could be bad for baby. So, they really don't have the right to dismiss my feelings or give endless advice about what we could do differently (i.e., what we've been doing wrong). That doesn't seem to stop them, though. And, when they don't know how to not give advice, I'm treated to silence. Cue the strain I feel so responsible for. I never dreamed that it would be like this...and I mean that in every sense of the phrase.
I guess I better get used to it. I'm outnumbered, after all. They're everywhere and I'm just here. I have no doubt that a planned trip to the mall this afternoon will do a wonderful job of reminding of just that. Cue the bouncing babies, unloading clown cars and "grin and bear it," "one day, it'll be my turn" look on my face.
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