15 months, and it still hurts.
There are several other two-mama couples at our church. Two have babies under a year old.
An acquaintance is coming into town this week. She’s pregnant with her second child.
Friends are visiting this weekend. They had their baby boy on Anderson’s due date.
Ander should be the oldest of this bunch.
I know it’s unfair, but I can’t help but see pity in the eyes of those other mothers. I can’t help but think that they’re thinking “Phew, we must have done something right where she did something wrong, because we have our babies.” I find it incredibly hard to be friends with them because I can’t get past the thought that they must be judging me. I would have judged me, before I knew, I think. I would have always seen my life in comparison to the babyloss mom’s as blessed, as lucky. I think I would have struggled with thinking “at least I’m not her.” So I impose this vision on others, and avoid them, because it still hurts. I wonder if I’ll feel vindicated, or at least relieved, when I have my own living child. Or if I’ll perpetually feel behind. I should have been first. I was first, but there is no proof of that anymore.