In December I went to the wedding reception of a friend from high school and college. I don't have a lot of close friends. I'm not good at making them and once I make a friend I am not good at staying in touch with them.
At the wedding I ran into other friends from high school. We had a great time. We caught up. We drank. We caught up some more. We drank some more. By the end of the night my friend was overenthusiastically telling us how much it meant to her that we all came to her wedding reception. We were swearing drunken oaths to do more things together. We made big plans for the first ever annual girls weekend get away. Plans somewhat fueled by alcohol induced sentimentality.
Since I am the natural planner in this community-theater-performing-creative-writing-teaching-weird-martial-arts-performing group of women I came home and sent out the emails to get this whole weekend thing started.
Then I stopped. I backed away. I pulled back.
Because I realized that there was probably a good chance that my newly married friend would be pregnant by the time this girl's weekend came to fruition.
The thought stopped me in my tracks.
Perhaps she would think that this weekend is the perfect opportunity to tell us all of her pregnancy. Or perhaps she would try to be sensitive to my feelings and we would have to guess her special secret when we all notice that she's skipping the wine. Both of these scenarios leave me feeling dread.
I am so angry. I was so looking forward to this weekend. Now I see no option, but to ditch the whole idea just because a friend MIGHT be pregnant. Crazy.
Infertility is so isolating and it continues to take and take and take.