So Britney's a mom.
Yes, yes, it's mean and spiteful and I know I shouldn't feel this way because heaven knows I wouldn't want anyone to go through what I have, but I still can't help feeling seethingly jealous of the vapid little pop tart who wanted a baby, decided to have one and got it. Just like that.
She's 23. She has a gazillion fresh eggs left in there - she can have baseball team if she and her smirking rat of a husband want to.
I'm 35. All I can do is pray that there's ONE good egg left and that my body will be able to sustain it if it does get fertilized. I just want one child before my insides wither up and die.
I know it's not fair (or healthy, for that matter) to compare myself to anyone else and I know baby making isn't a race, it's just that it's impossibly hard to see other people get exactly what they want with what appears to be so little effort. Again, I know - not fair.
But you know what? Neither is having two miscarriages then finally bringing a beautiful boy into the world only to find out he's brain dead and going to die. That's not fucking fair either. So there. Take THAT pop tart!
I think I heard about her pregnancy before I even got out of the hospital. I knew it was going to be a torturous ride, seeing her fat, growing belly splashed all over the cover of every magazine on the rack every time she so much as sneezed.
And it was. From her "I've got the golden ticket" t-shirt with an arrow pointing to her blossoming belly at the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory premiere to her ridiculously lavish Moroccan themed baby shower. It's been like a train wreck. I couldn't take my jealous eyes off of it, even though it was like a dagger through the heart with every turn of the page.
And she had a boy. She HAD to have a boy.
I know this probably seems like a crazy-lady rant, but I don't actually care all that much. I would challenge anyone who thinks I'm nuts to walk a mile in my shoes.
It's a sad fact. Pregnancy doesn't hold the promise it once did for me. All three times it has ended in sorrow and death and so seeing it happen so wonderfully and magically for someone like Britney Spears is really hard. It isn't that I don't wish her and her baby boy well. Of course I do (not that she cares) but I just don't think I should be expected to find personal joy in it.
Fuck it. Maybe I am nuts.