So the popping continues. After the long weekend with my sister's stuff, my cousin emails me this morning to have lunch. I had an inkling that she was pg because we usually have to plan a few weeks in advance with her.
So, yeah. She's pg, too. I knew it was coming and she warned me well in advance (like around the holidays), which I really appreciated. Then we talked about a month ago over dinner and she was debating having another one because her son is almost 3 and he's just so easy, etc. She wasn't sure whether she was ready to do it all over again. Understandable.
So, yeah. She's pg, too. I knew it was coming and she warned me well in advance (like around the holidays), which I really appreciated. Then we talked about a month ago over dinner and she was debating having another one because her son is almost 3 and he's just so easy, etc. She wasn't sure whether she was ready to do it all over again. Understandable.
However, they decided to go ahead with things and got pg on their first month off of the pill. I am genuinely thrilled for her. Truly, I am. But I won't lie. I had a little pity party for myself on the way back from lunch. I just don't understand how I got EVERY horrible gene possible. Seriously. She and my sister are both tiny, gorgeous AND hyperfertile. I'd take just one of those at this point. So I had my pity party and now I feel okay. I guess at least I got the best husband. That's something I should be thankful for.
So this is how I feel:
I feel like I'm the crazy lady with all of these popped balloons around me. Only hopefully one of the inflated ones are there for me.
1 comment:
Great picture. Sending you a big hug for having to be around pg people all the time, and fertile pg people which is worse.
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