It has been awhile since I have been tested. A few months ago I was besieged with numerous drive-by pregnancy announcements, culminating in a post entitled, "Everyone is pregnant but you". At the time, it seemed as if every single day of my existence was peppered with news of some person much older than me getting pregnant naturally, or details of random single women getting knocked up accidentally. I was approaching IVF time and all of the pregnancy talk being stuffed in my face led me to believe that the universe was preparing to bend me over the table and show me how cruel fate could really be.
Soon after the first batch of positive pregnancy tests, my office was visited by the woman mentioned here. Not content to have lapped me once, said ex co-worker decided to do it twice. Accustomed to the upset her visits usually caused me, it felt blissful to have this secret held inside, even if it was only in my head that I was saying, "Haha! I am now impervious to your abundant fertility bitch! Go on, get pregnant right after this one is born, I dare you." I was by no means convinced that a series of pregnancy tests with result lines of varying darkness would turn into a kid, but I relished the opportunity to feel almost even with this woman for once. I know she would be surprised that I'd turned the situation into a fertility competition, and I'm well aware that this imaginary victory I had concocted in my head meant nothing to anyone aside from me. For once, I felt virtually untouchable to the drive-by.
However, there is always a "but". A couple of days ago I emailed some close friends to tell them of Enid, and after the congratulatory emails came a story of utmost hilarity. It seems that one friend's sister-in-law, who is the wrong side of 40, is pregnant. Ha! Apparently it happened at the friend's house on New Year's Eve and was a complete and utter surprise! Ha ha! The best part is, I was there that night. No, not during conception (not that I'm aware of anyway), but at the party held earlier. Me, avoiding all the food but the salted crisps, waiting to go home so I could just go to bed. I was undoubtedly thinking about Enid, wondering if I was bleeding yet or ready to experience gut-wrenching cramps. Me, never a moment's thought away from how a pregnancy that was so difficult to achieve could go horribly wrong. Yet, it appears there are people in the world that are 12-15 years older than me that have a drunken grope 'n' poke on New Year's Eve and still end up with the baby. Not only that, but I'm willing to bet she's not always checking the toilet paper.
I can't quite figure out why this announcement is bothering me. I know it shouldn't, given that I'm not currently in the position to be jealous of pregnant women, but I still am. How is it that I could be resentful of women who got pregnant naturally when I couldn't, and yet I still am despite being pregnant myself? A better person would acknowledge that hey, pregnancy is pregnancy, regardless of how it was achieved. I, on the other hand, can never put behind me that I'm still not normal. I am hopefully on the way to getting what I want, but those women who spread their legs for penises not catheters will always be there, lurking in the background reminding me that baby or not, things will never be normal.