bumps everywhere

What the hell is in the water lately? I should say what the hell is in EVERYONE ELSE’S WATER, since it seems like everywhere I go and everywhere I look, there are women sporting baby bumps of varying sizes. I see them everywhere — except when I look in the mirror at my own babyless belly. And it’s driving me nuts.

I’m really not exaggerating this either. I see them EVERY SINGLE DAY, no matter where I go or what I’m doing.

I walk into the grocery store admiring the cute outfit on the woman ahead of me, and sure enough, when she turns sideways there’s a baby belly.

I drive down the street and see a woman jogging along on the sidewalk, and as I pass her I see a baby belly. (Never mind that I don’t even jog when I’m NOT pregnant.)

I’m innocently folding laundry and watching a t.v. show – not a cutesy-tootsie one, but like a CSI-type show, with blood and gore and crime – and one of the main characters (a serial killer, no less) is hugely pregnant.

I flip the channel and land on a commercial where there’s yet another pregnant woman.

I log onto Facebook one night to find that one of my exes and his wife are expecting another baby (their first is 8 months old), and she’s due a week before I was.

I go to a 4th of July cookout and find out that a neighbor is pregnant again.

I’m driving to the grocery store and I see a couple walking along pushing a stroller with a toddler in it and – oh, lo and behold – the woman is pregnant with another.

Super Boy and I go to the ice cream shop to get him a smoothie (just this afternoon, in fact) and there’s no one in there but us. As we leave, a woman walks in sporting a good-sized baby bump. Oh – and bonus! – I passed another one in the parking lot on the way back to my van.

Honest to God, it seems like just about everyone is pregnant except me. First babies, second babies, third babies, fourth babies. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.

And all I can think about is that I would’ve been 15 weeks pregnant tomorrow, had everything turned out with my April pregnancy. I would’ve been past the first trimester, showing, and just about 4 months pregnant. I think about that every single day, and I’m sure I will until my due-date-that-was of 1/1/11 passes. Unless by some miracle from God I end up pregnant again by then. And even then.

Why does it have to be so hard???

What happened to me, to my body, that is making this so damned difficult??? It’s supposed to be easier than this!

God, I think about all the years I spent trying NOT to get pregnant while I waited for “the right time” to start a family, and I desperately wish I could go back and rethink that whole thing and get off birth control and start trying sooner. What if I missed my window of opportunity by just a year even?

It’s maddening, I tell you. I have no control over this, over my own frickin’ body, and it makes me furious. Every time I see another baby bump I want to crawl into bed and cry. As it is, I immediately avert my eyes. I can’t even stand to look at them because it triggers an actual physical ache in my body and my heart.

And don’t even get me started on listening to nearly-due pregnant women who complain about how they feel or how they hate being pregnant. If I HAD a left nut, I’d gladly give it to be in their shoes. Gladly. Any damn day of the week. I LOVED being pregnant with Super Boy. Loved it, loved it, loved it, and truly couldn’t wait to experience it again. To hear anyone complain about it makes me want to scream.

This is hell. Everyone has their own version; I accept that. This is mine.

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