green eyed bitch

Jealousy is an evil, evil bitch. During my struggles with semi-fertility, she has taken up a near constant vigil in my life. Fertiles, specifically preggo fertiles, seem to bear the fruit of my resentment. I can't even begin to describe the just-punched-in-the-gut feeling that invariably accompanies the news that someone I know is expecting. (Oh, wait, yes I can. It feels like I just got punched in the gut). Several times Hubby has had the pleasure of delivering the news, and the exchange usually goes something like this:

Hubby: I have something to tell you (looking appropriately somber.)
Wifey: Uhhm, okay.
Hubby: So-and-so is pregnant (flinching as if I'm going to hit him with a spinning backfist. I haven't. Yet.)
Wifey: (tears, snot, incoherent mumblings, all of which may last several hours or days.)

Thank god that man often gets to see me at my best, because jealousy most definitely brings out my worst.

Sometime later, when I regain the ability to breathe, and thus talk, (much, I suppose, to Hubby's horror) I break out the "Why I'd Make a Better Mommy than So-and-so" game. It's rad - winner gets to feel like a total fucking asshole just for playing. I pretty much always win.

I have no idea why such happy news produces such an incredibly visceral reaction in me. I know that somebody else's pregnancy does not mean that I'll never have a child. It makes absolutely no sense that I feel like it does. Jealousy defeats reason, KO 1st round.

I think all of that is a fairly, or at least somewhat, normal response to the shit that we have been dealing with (not that that stops me from feeling ridiculous and asshole-ish for reacting in such a dramatic way). What really keeps me awake at night is not the because-so-and-so-has-it-better jealousy, but the because-so-and-so-has-it-worse jealousy. There, I said it. It seems even more asshole-ish written than it did in my head, but there it is. I wouldn't say that I wish I was that person dealing with the loss of a spouse, child, lover, friend, family member. I've experienced some of those losses, more than once, and they suck. I do, however, wish that the people in my world would understand (or acknowledge, for fuck's sake!) the depth of our losses. While my children might never have walked this earth, or been held in my arms, or kept me up all night, screaming, while I chugged from the flask in my bra just to deal, they are missed. Surely, sorely, they are missed.