I got an invitation today from a friend to attend her baby shower. Yes… another one of those. This friend had tried for three years to conceive and eventually managed to get pregnant without any medical intervention other than some acupuncture (which probably did more for her mental state than her physical state, but I digress) so she’s one of the lucky ones in my book. But seeing she is someone who struggled for quite some time with the whole conception thing, you might expect that she would have a teeny weeny bit of understanding how those of us who have turned into the epitome of an IVF Cautionary Tale, would feel about attending the baby showers of well… the pregnant people.
I don’t want to go to this thing! Are you nuts?! To sit around and watch the cooing and the oohs and ahhs over cute little baby stuff that people will bring. It sounds like a special fucking torture to me… and I can’t perceive a reason why I SHOULD willingly put myself through that. Especially at the moment when my own circumstances feel so precarious. If I go, I get to spend an afternoon gritting my teeth and smiling appropriately and trying not to say things that are negative or depressing or just plain sad. If I go, I get to spend the afternoon trying not to burst into tears inappropriately or running off to the bathroom to hide when I feel myself getting upset.
But if I don’t go… then I’m an awful friend, perhaps even just an awful person all round.
