we'll go dancing in the dark

Hurry, don't be late
I can hardly wait
I said to myself when we're old
We'll go dancing in the dark
Walking through the park and reminiscing


My friend had a baby today. And I babysat her older child, I sat with another friend, who is pregnant. Then chatted on the phone with a friend who had her baby jus 6 months ago. I babysat her older child that day too.
I joked to my husband on the phone today that it's inevitably the barren woman who watches the kids.

"I'll always be the mom that has to do shit now" I said. "It's always going to be easier for me - after all - I only have ONE. Dun dun Dah...>"

After leaving the hospital I went knitting, where three woman were pregnant.

And I'm not jealous. Or sad. or in denial.

I'm feeling, alone I guess, alone in my experience.

Because not only may I never be pregnant again, which is - really - ok (with processing) but even my "live birth" pregnancy experience was different. So I have no frame of reference as their seconds bring up all the tellings of others firsts. I didn't shop at specialty stores, or join support groups after. I didn't register miscellaneous items, that I regretted later, laughingly calling myself a rookie mom. I didn't sit wishing for it to be over for my baby to "just come already". I don't know what it feels like to be asked "So when are you due, so what are you having" I have - zero - ability to relate.

Am I jealous? No.
Am I sad? No
Am I lying to myself? No.

But sometimes I wish I had a mom that we could banter about our stories with. About the humor that came with being on bedrest, about having a four week pregnancy...as it took us until week 30 to actualize that she would make it. About the ease of being a new mother when your worst fear is already gone. About the joy that came with bonding so closely with my husband. About the smell of Thai food eminating from my room nightly and how it tortured the friends I made amongst the nurses. I don't want to be gloomy when everyone laughs about having been hot in the summer or big in the winter, but my stories have elements of unpleasant that I can't take away. When people talked about their post labor experience, I recall the story of almost fainting at the elevator trying to sneak up to see Ellie in the NICU and how mad the nurse was. It WAS funny. But it's not. When people talk about going into labor, I think about how I was bollicky bare assed as my dad would say, naked as the day is long, completely, totally starkers in front of two teams of doctors, an anesthesiologist and several nurses. The 9 to 10 people to usher Ellie in. Funny until someone asks why.

I think it's hysterical that I went rug shopping two days after her birth and how the saleslady thought I was pregnant still and I had to explain that no, I had already HAD the baby. And how baffled she was. And how startk raving mad I was and didn't even realize it.

My stories are funny, they just originate from a different experience.
I know I need to get over it, and I have - for the most part.
But on days when all the world is reminiscing, I just wish I had a friend that I could reminisce with too.