I have a neighbour, S, who lives at the back of our house. We get on great, her little girl is the same age as Little Man and when we finally met recently we both exclaimed how we can now finally put names and faces to the others child we’d heard so often. S also has two older children and has just had a newborn – last week.
When I met S she was noticeably pregnant. I remember thinking how great she looked, so healthy, in proportion and beautiful. I remember wondering how she did it with three other kids and a part time job. I remember feeling a little jealous at her obvious fertility.
I haven’t seen S for a while because I’ve been busy doing other things and not attending our local play group where we normally caught up. But I’ve been thinking of her, she probably doesn’t know how much. I’ve been waiting, waiting to hear her babes cry to know she and her child were okay.
Well, on Friday I heard it. I heard the cry.
I felt relief that they were home safe. I wondered how the delivery had gone and about the gender. And then I felt a little sad.
I’m not sure why because I’m so content with my Little Man. I’ve accepted the fact that we may not carry on trying but still, it took the wind out of me hearing that newborn noise. Now I’m writing this I feel tearful. Is it grief?
I’m functioning normally. Better than normal. I’m not sure I still have the longing to be pregnant that I’ve had for many years. I’m somewhat excited that my body can be mine, my thirties can be mine and that I can look forward to more and more sleep in the future. So why do I still feel this way? Why does talking about Elizabeth and Jamie (Yogi and Peanut) make my voice crack?
Well, I’m obviously not doing as good as I thought I was. But, I’ll get there, I’ll just have to take my time.