This picture is of me at a baby's birthday party. And I look happy, don't I? We had a grand time, with me lying down for most of it at the end. A good friend kicked a bottle of beer so it spilled in my hair. It was a beautiful day in the park for a beer hair-wash. We had cake and counted strollers. I broke the twin news loudly and proudly.
The last time I went to a one-year-old's birthday party, I left in tears. That was almost exactly 5 years ago, before I knew I was infertile, before I had even met James. There is nothing like a party full of happy babies and parents to make you feel sad.
I had a few experiences this weekend that involved cooing at cute children. I went to the grocery store with James on Saturday but lacked the strength to go into the actual store. I stayed in the car and people-watched outside a string of family restaurants at the strip mall. There was a little girl who was tired of holding her bunny, so the dad tucked its pink head into its back pocket, and they preceded with the bunny's anthropomorphic, decapitated-looking body flopping against his rear end. Another daddy showed a little girl a balloon that had floated way into the sky. They speculated that it would go to outerspace, and maybe Curious George could get it while he was up there. I saw mothers who had not gotten their figures back, walking by with brand-new babies in brand-new strollers.
And my reaction to all of this was, "Awww."
Pregnancy has innoculated me against the pain of the outside world. It has been years since I have seen all these sights and not bristled and shrunk. It has been years since I have not felt, every day, like I am being left behind. Now seeing multiple generations of people together doesn't instill a fear in me that I will never have children. It just reminds me what's good.
I am so, so thankful.