The world rushes past you in waves.
Birth announcements, birthdays, graduations.
While you sit on the sidelines.
Our first “official” month of trying (although we’d not been “not trying” for a while by that point) was a vacation we took to Italy. I’d just found out a couple weeks before that I might have endometriosis, and my husband had just gone partially blind with a mysterious retinal embolism. We were stressed. I remember thinking that we would just get pregnant in Italy, and things would start to get better.
I remember there was a royal wedding going on, and we decided to hike Cinque Terre instead of staying in the hotel and watching the wedding on TV that morning. (In hindsight, I don’t see how the latter was even on the table….at any rate, we made the right choice. Cinque Terre is amazing…and there was nothing on TV except the Royal Wedding for weeks afterward anyway.)
There was a royal baby born today. I ran upstairs to take a pregnancy test because my period is almost due, but to no avail. We’re getting passed again. And again and again and again. Have to let go of it every time, the idea that it should have been us. You know you’re in a state when you feel personally affronted by the stupid royal family having a baby. Geez.