This week has been a tough week for me. A part of me wonders if it is because I am starting to reduce the dosage of my anti-depressant, but really, I think it's just been a hard week. There have been several milestones that have happened and it starts the grief process all over for me. But now I don't have the luxury of sitting at home and just being with it.
One week, one day, 12 hours and 4 minutes ago I officially had been without Alfy longer than he had been with us. It didn't really hit me that the milestone had passed until Tuesday. Tuesday, Oct. 23 was the one year anniversary of when I had quit smoking and Tony had quit chewing. Tuesday, Oct. 23 was the day that I found out I was pregnant with Alfy.
Then, to top it all off, my co-worker had her appointment yesterday in which she could find out the gender of her baby. She'll be 20 weeks along on Monday. Is it creepy that I know that? I suppose to some it might be. I can't help it though. I am acutely aware of how her pregnancy is progressing. Every Monday marks another week for her. Every fourth Friday she has her OB appointment and arrives at work about 10:30am. I dread the day when she will be farther along in her pregnancy than I ever was in mine. It's so unfair.
I'm not sure if I've spoken about this situation at work before. If I have, don't worry about reading further, but I need to vent again. This particular co-worker, we'll call her A, had really started becoming part of my support system, at work and even in general. One of her best friend's lost her husband unexpectedly, her friend was about 15 weeks pregnant when this happened. Well, with my new found expertise in grief I tried to provide as much support as I could to A. In that process, I really started opening up to her about my grief process, which I haven't really done with many people (not that many people have seemed to be all that interested). A few weeks after that, we working together at a Saturday program. After the program was done, A came into my office and told me she needed to tell me something. She was pregnant and would be 14 weeks along on Monday. She didn't want me to hear it from anyone else in the office.
What? You're pregnant? Really? At first, I didn't think it bothered me too much. I could see the distress on A's face so I just sat and listened as she told me the story of her pregnancy. It hadn't been an easy road for her and her husband. They had been trying to conceive for about 4 years. One month before they found out they were pregnant, they had been told that IVF or adoption were their only options for kids. Then, low and behold, a miracle baby happened. A miracle baby that would be due the following spring, the time of year they had always dreamed they would have a child. Shortly after telling me, I thought, "Well, if anyone deserves to be pregnant, it sounds like it's her and she won't take it for granted."
Unfortunately, I have not been able to keep that thought in the forefront of my mind. The more her stomach grows, the more my jealousy grows. The more her stomach grows, the more my guilt for my feelings grow. The more her stomach grows, the more I think, "Why? Why does she get her dream and I didn't?" The more her stomach grows, the more distant I become. The more her stomach grows, the more I hate the distance.
The sheer amount of emotions I can feel within a few seconds is unreal. Every time she walks past my office door, or stops in to say hi, really any time I see her I feel happy-positive-exicted-hopeful-sad-hurt-panic-anger-jealousy-guilt-crazy-brokenhearted. It's all I can do to keep from completely breaking down, over and over and over and over again every day.
I feel like someone has committed the ultimate act of betrayal against me. I'll be here for you and support you and really get you to open up. Then, when you're least expecting it, I'll tell you all about how I get the one thing you can't have and I knew about it the whole time I was being your friend. I know that sounds totally neurotic, but I can't help it. I have to consciously push that thought from head hundreds of times a day. It's that overwhelming irrationality grief thought taking over.
A has a new wardrobe, I presume maternity clothes. Mine are packed up, put away in a tub where I don't have to see them. There's a whole stack of them in the tub with the tags still on them. I never got to wear them. I still have a giftcard in my wallet to Motherhood Maternity. I never got to use it.
I heard another co-worker chatting with her yesterday as I was microwaving my lunch about picking colors for a room and how it could be hard if you didn't know the gender of your child or how it could put you in a corner and make it difficult for future children if you did find out. What would you do with boy stuff if you had a girl later? If only that were going to be my biggest concern if I am ever pregnant again.
I honestly don't know if I heard if A said she knew what the gender was. I put my lunch in the microwave and then I ran (not really, more like walked at my quickest, non-alarming pace) to the bathroom. I sat in a stall and I cried. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. Then I put myself back together as best I could and went about my work as if nothing had happened. I didn't want to be "that girl" at work. Who are we kidding? I already am "that girl." Co-workers already avoid talking about A's pregnancy in front of me like they would avoid the plague (minus the one above but the conversation had already started and stopping it would have been even more awkward). But now I know how I react when someone does talk about her upcoming bundle of joy. I completely lose it.
It's a Catch 22, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't. Maybe I should just find a new job.
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