OK, so there is someone in my family who is like a brother to me and he calls my mom “mom” and I have known him for 18 years. I will not go into the details because it would be a soap-opera-y novella, but just trust me that he is like family. He loves out of state, and he just got married in July. His now wife used to be so anti kids that it was not even a vague option for her to have babies. Over the years she softened to the idea, and as soon as he proposed, they decided they really did want kids after all but would wait until they were married to start trying.
Try they did…on their honeymoon. And pregnant they got.
If you asked me to choose when they would be pregnant, I would say: right now. If you asked me if I would wish upon anyone I love the misery, blood, tears, fighting, emotional drain, changes of plans, jealousy and brokenheartedness of unsuccessfully trying to make a baby, I would say: never. Am I happy for them? Yes. Am I happy for S that she has someone to be pregnant with? Yes. Totally. Hey, thank fucking god we are pregnant, right? Otherwise this news would have sliced me right open.
So why am I close to tears? These are not happy tears, although I am very, very happy for them. These are the tears of someone who trudged through hell (you know these trenches full of shit all too well) every month for years to get pregnant and someone else did nothing but have sex a few times, and the result is the same. Pregnant. Ultimately, we played a hellish lottery for over 2 years and they played a fun lottery for 2 days, and we both won. Good news for them. Good news for us. But I still feel like crying.