Interchangeable? Not so much

Although I regularly dazzle you with my truly amazing intellect, it is apparently beyond my capabilities to remember to turn off comments so I have now (hopefully) turned off all comments on the blog. I had been leaving old comments open so any of you who really needed to vent still had somewhere to go... but... no longer. I have given my e-mail (look under my barren profile) in case anyone really feels the need to slap me around a bit.

Before I so rudely remembered to turn off comments on the last post, I did receive one comment that made me think (generally a bad thing and so another reason to remain comment free). It's something that crops up a lot on our blogs - it's the assumption that somehow other people should know how we feel. And I guess it's also a little bit about the desire to be treated with kid gloves.

So, the comment was something along the lines that the person could "understand the jealously" and that they wanted a pregnancy as well. It stopped me short. It made me realize that we all do this - take our own emotional baggage and tend to stamp everyone else with it.

Back to my last couple of posts - at 43, I am NOT where most of you are. I am not hoping for a BFP (as y'all are prone to call it).

Jealousy? Not so much.

Hope? Not to get pregnant (a vasectomy is still a distinct possibility in our household.)

Anger? Simmering away, generally gently but sometimes I get neglectful and it boils over.

Hurt? Yes... but please - I'm too busy sweeping it under the carpet to really want to play with it much.

Sad? Again yes but don't expect me to revel in it with you.

So when I get a little overwhelmed with all the "congratulations", it's NOT that I think "oh I wish that were me". I've been there six times people - not somewhere I really want to go again. (And the birth announcements and pictures are something I actually do like).

It's NOT that I think "she didn't deserve it". Since when did deserving have anything to do with what we're served up?

It's NOT that I think "it's not fair". I stopped thinking in those terms somewhere around the age of 3 (possibly 4).

It's that I feel like someone has taken a straight blade and quickly slashed down the centre of my chest. It's the sadness, the loss of the last five pregnancies - it's that damn lump under the carpet, trying to find it's way out again.

And guess what? Sometimes I deal with it by getting angry and sometimes I get angry when it feels like whatever I'm reading is just a little too trite or pandering a little bit too much to whatever audience you might have. For me, the whole ride has been way too painful to want to get together with you and paint our nails.

And it's all about me, not you. So take it that way (and of course, you always have the choice not to take it at all).