Sometimes there's just no words, just silent tears....
The dreaded pregnancy announcement. Yet another one. There have been so many of late: every one leaving a little sting, a little mark, and more often or not, a lot of well buried hurt.
Usually, I can deal with them well. I know just how to act, what questions to ask, and what answers to give. I will support the woman involved, often help care for her other child/ren in those first few months of pregnancy and beyond. And every single one of those things are truly bittersweet for me: whilst I love to do these things for my friends, deep down, I just want it to me. I want to have my turn at the very thing that so many others take for granted: a baby.
But then comes the announcement from out of the blue. The announcement that staggers you and leaves you completely breathless. The one you never expected to hear: or at least not yet. The announcement that shakes you to the very core, regardless of how well you hide it in the depths of your soul, behind a smile and a kind word. After the email is read, or the phone call is finished, your heart cries, begging the powers that be why it is not you.
So please my dear friends, be considerate and sensitive when you call/email/facebook me with your "fantastic" news. Remember that your "fantastic" news may be gut wrenching for me. Don't try to minimise my infertility by saying, "It will happen for you: look, it happened for us". You are not fortune tellers, you do not know the future.
Don't make jokes about built-in babysitters or about how quickly you fell pregnant. I would give anything to be in your shoes and have just a taste of what you are experiencing right now. Don't rub it in.
Don't cut me off either. I love to be included in your pregnancy: to be given the privilege of being told about your latest scan and being permitted to feel your baby's kicks brings me so much joy. And when your baby comes, I will be there to play whatever role you need me to play. Without a doubt I will fall in love with your child and will want to be a loving, caring part of it's life.
But remember that I will go home and cry at some point. Remember that it is hard for me: that seeing you (and your baby) is an ever constant reminder of my own body's failure.
I am always here and I will always support you, but equally, I am approaching this pregnancy to a different place to you.
10 Things Not to Say to Your Infertile Friend
Pregnancy Announcements and Lessening the Ouch Factor
How do You Tell an Infertile Friend That You're Pregnant