OPB... Other People's Babies

I had one of those moments yesterday that reminds me that when it comes to loss and mourning, we never really get over the things that break our hearts.

I went to my niece's baby shower yesterday, and it was a lot of fun. I got to hang out with my in-laws, who, despite all the horror stories, are not as bad as in-laws are supposed to be.  My sister-in-law had it at her house, which was way too small for the 45 people who attended.  There were four diaper cakes. Mine was the cutest.

I do not exaggerate when I say that the impending baby girl will not wear the same outfit twice until she is in kindergarten.  I also do not exaggerate when I say that they did not get enough diapers.  I have learned recently in my new role as a foster parent that one can NEVER have enough diapers. Or wipes.

But I'm birdwalking.

I'm here to write about what happened after the shower, when everyone but the family had gone home, and we were all sitting around, drunk on too-sweet punch and pigs in blankets, talking about nothing in general.  Then, my oldest niece announced to the room that she and her husband are expecting again. 

So by Christmas, I'll be a great aunt thrice-over.  I am thrilled for them --  my nieces and their husbands are terrific people, and are and will be awesome parents.  And, after spending time with my own children, it's nice to know that there will be some normal people to continue our name and lineage. 

However, they are a reminder of something I'll never be.

Pregnant.

I've gotten very good at pretending that prenatal announcements don't bother me.

But they do.

Deeply. And in parts of my heart and soul that only another woman who knows that pain will ever understand. 

And I cried.  Not then and there, but later, in bed at my in-laws' house, where no one but the pillow and my battered copy of Pride and Prejudice could hear me. 

And today we ate breakfast, one big happy family, and no one knew I'd cried myself to sleep.