my first daylog
Today I got a call from a good friend. She's pregnant. I hoop and holler because they've been planning and hoping for awhile now. They got it on their first try. Mr. and Mrs. Fertile. She relates first trimester\first pregnancy stories about her sore breasts and having to hug people from the side, about tempering the good news every time it is shared with the casual-but-terror-striken-reminder of the possible risk of miscarriage, about the impossibly-soft floppy lion plush toy they got from the doctor when they got their first ultrasound and saw the little bean of life inside of her.
It's all good, life, stuff. I am convinced that they will make fabulous parents. I wish I was in their same city so I could more fully participate, but I can't breathe in Houston. And the other climates suck there, too.
Off the phone I return to my Dad, who is visiting for the weekend. We talk about it a while, with him giving me his ever-pragmatic, thumbs-in-beltloop take on it. Then we return to the movie we were watching, but my head is still with the baby news. This friend of mine was my last girlfriend before I came out of the closet. We were together nine months in college. We even had a pregnancy scare. In that other world, this news could have been our news. It could have been us to be welcomed into the inner circle of parenthood, shuffled into the cluster of parents and grandparents fussing over details, eager to share their questions, stories, superstitions, and advice. Eager to crank these rituals and tend lovingly to the new work at hand. But this isn't that other world. This is this world. This is the world where I ride a slow conveyor belt backwards, away from that crowd.
I am so happy for her I could cry.