This post has been brewing in my head for about a month, and it’s time to get some things off my chest. I’ve been hesitant to write about all of this, because many of my friends are pregnant, or just had new babies. I want to say that I honestly am happy for all of you (I’ll only say that once, but it will be true throughout this whole post). I still love to hear about the pregnancies, births, and new-baby life. But at the same time, I hate to hear about them, because I want it to be me. This may not be the best written post, and it might be a bunch of disjointed thoughts, but it’s something I need to say.

I thought I was supposed to have a baby in March. When I miscarried in July/August, I knew for a week or so that it was probably going to happen. I was upset, but since we got pregnant so easily, I moved on quickly with plans for another baby as soon as possible. But since my second miscarriage in December, March didn’t pass by as easily as I had expected. Babies have been born to moms that got pregnant around the same time I did. And it kills me inside to miss that for myself. June/July will be even harder than March has been, because I thought I was supposed to have a baby then as well. And it will kill me inside to miss that for myself. And Marissa.

I don’t have any doubts that as soon as we start trying again, I’ll get pregnant easily. But we are waiting for other reasons, and it’s killing me inside. We’ve discussed it in great length, but it’s best that we wait.

I also feel so guilty for that, because there are so many women who don’t have that confidence. They’ve tried for months or even years, and still don’t have a healthy child to show for it. What right do I have to complain about my perfectly wonderful (yet small) family?

My new job. Families I see in stores. Siblings on blogs I read. There are so many times I hurt inside because I want to give Marissa a sibling. When she turned 1, I realized that I wanted a small age difference, and even if I got pregnant right that second, it was going to be a bigger difference that I ideally wanted. Almost a year later, we are still no closer to having a sibling for her, and she’s only getting older. To watch her with the 7 month old at my new job, I just know she would be THE PERFECT big sister. She’s so gentle, giving kisses and hugs any time the baby even starts to whimper. She tells me to pick the baby up to make her feel better. She gives her toys, her pacifier, and even tried to give her her bottle once. She’s been in love with every baby she’s seen for at least 6 months.

I want to be pregnant. I want to feel a life growing inside me. I want to have 9 months of giddy anticipation. I want to ENJOY newborn life, because with Marissa I was so miserable breastfeeding at first, I don’t even remember her first 4 months or so. I want to watch Marissa cuddle a tiny baby, and have that baby be ours. I want to watch Marissa grow up to be close to her siblings, in age and in love.

There were so many thoughts in my head, somehow I thought this post would be longer. But I guess that about sums it up. I am suffering from extreme jealousy and bitterness. I realize I have so much to be thankful for, but it’s hard, when there’s still so much that I want for our life. I’m doing better with it, but I still have a long way to go, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be completely over it all. Somewhere, God has a reason for all this CRAP that I’ve gone through. But I’m still waiting to find that out.

Hmmm, my top 3 pet peeves:
1. Being forced to smell others’ cigarette smoke. Yes, you made the choice to smoke, but I should have a choice to breathe fresh air too.
2. Dishes. ‘Nuff said.
3. When someone puts something inches away from the location it was supposed to go to. For instance, trash on the counter, instead of in the trash can. You get the idea.

I just answered this Featured Question, you can answer it too!

Somehow I get sucked into the world of blogs, and go from blog to blog to blog to blog of people I don’t even know. I’m assuming that’s how I found this one: http://ourowncreation.wordpress.com/. I thought I was heartbroken after my two miscarriages. But it must be so much harder to carry a baby (or two in her case) long enough to feel kicks. So much harder to give birth and meet that beautiful face. So much harder to watch a tiny baby overcome so many obstacles in their short life, only to die after all. With me, I was sad about losing a future child. But so many people lose a child that they have met, prepared for, cared for, and loved. With all the stories out there about how so many preemies born at 24, 25, 26 weeks survive, sometimes I forget that many don’t. I think I’m grateful that I didn’t lose a baby I’d already met. Am I still sad? Of course. But it puts it into perspective a little bit.