Easter has come and gone. We are all revoltingly filled with enough chocolate to make the Won.ka factory look barren. It is April. These are good things.
Here is my updated list of things I cannot bear, yet:
*curly-haired little girls at the playground, specifically those who are two years old or younger.
*poofy-froufy springtime dresses
*pregnancy announcements--sorry, but I can't swallow them yet. Not for lack of trying.
*women bitching about said pregnancy and their symptoms--boo frickin hoo.
It's funny--the last two list items don't really apply to women I know and love. It's as though I can't forgive absolute strangers for going on with their lives--how dare they exist in front of poor, grieving me?! But in reality, I know all too well the history of close friends and family--many of my dearest have child-related anxiety-riddled histories, or know me well enough to absorb ours. But who am I to guess at the deadbaby history of strangers?
Really, it's just easier to look at someone and project a perfect, naive, blissful, full-o-livebabies existence. It's easier to feel irritated, jealous and mean--and sometimes I need to just be mean to swallow the happiness of others. Especially when there are so many days when misery is my overriding emotion.
And, DAMN! It seems like everywhere I turn there's another mama in full bloom--and oh! Look! She's got her toddler with her, too! How perfectly, sickeningly lovely. Again--who am I to guess and judge?
But, as they have promised, this too shall . . . pass? Doubtful. Abate, lessen, weaken, soften, dissipate. That's what we're going for as we move ahead. Bring it on, spring. Bring. It. On.