New chapters in Welcome

Hey you guys. Sorry I forgot to write for like, the last two years.

Oops.

I could get into why, or what's happened, or try to play catch-up but that just sounds overwhelming and impossible and I think the idea of it is what is keeping me away. So I'm gonna skip all that and try to dive right in. I suppose if things are important they'll eventually come up.

Things are weird.

Two dear friends have given birth in the last four days. One, two weeks early when we happened to be visiting. Hubby and I got tipsy over dinner, while Michelle and Preggo stayed sober (because of antibiotics and baby, respectively). Designated driver takes on a whole new weight when someone goes into labor about the time the dinner check arrives. And I'm thrilled, and in love with these two tiny perfect girls, one with her father's chin and exquisite dimples, the other with her father's nose and mother's habit of being late. I'm in love with them and so, so happy for their families. I'm happy for the handful of other friends who have given birth in recent weeks and months, and the half dozen more who will join the mommy club in the coming months.

I'm also sad, and fucking resentful, and I hate it. I feel cheated by the fact that we can't just have a night of wine-fueled make-outs that end in pregnancies, or trips to Paris with newly-implanted embryo souvenirs. I hate that we can't even think about getting pregnant without thousands of dollars in savings, countless doctor's visits, shopping for sperm on the internet like we're buying goddamn shoes. And I know I've said this before but I hate that we'll never get to look at our kid and marvel at how she'll look like both of us depending on her mood. It breaks my heart. Then I feel terrible for feeling this way, when there are others like us who will never have the financial means to even think about having babies, for whom the free option just isn't an option. And I feel bad for those who always assumed it would be easy because babies are a natural consequence, when the "oops" moment never happens and the trying doesn't work. I know I'm not special. I know that people everywhere feel like this. I know that some of you have experienced the pain of infertility. I know.

And yet it feels somehow extra cruel to have two perfectly healthy people, who presumably wouldn't have any problem baking up babycakes if only they'd fallen in love with boys.

It makes me want to throw a tantrum. It's why I keep making excuses instead of making appointments. BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING HAVE TO. I know it isn't productive or rational or smart. The babies aren't going to make themselves and Michelle isn't magically going to start producing sperm, and we are so, so ready to be parents. I know that it will all be worth it when I feel the flutter of aliens inside me, when I hold our little munchkin for the first time, when I'm so delirious from lack of sleep that I pour orange juice on my cereal.

But right now I'm just kind of heartbroken, and kind of angry, and kind of tired.