It’s been said before by other bloggers and I will be honest and say it today.  I really root for my friends, both the online friends and F&B friends, to become pregnant, but I’m not up for reading about it when it happens.  Maybe it’s post-Mother’s Day; this year we skipped church to avoid it altogether.  The flowers – in the past it was take a red carnation if your mother’s alive, a white if she has passed away, is there a dead shriveled one for someone like me?  And a lot of churches like to dedicate or baptize babies on Mother’s Day.  We stayed home. 

This is so not pretty but infertiles becoming pregnant makes me feel more sad and left-behind than I already feel.  I also feel glad for them, and it seems just that it finally happened for somebody, and I appreciate their honesty about their fears, their gratitude, their crazy ups and downs.  I know that life can change in an instant.  I know that when (if?) (when!) it happens to me, I’ll wish friends who are still waiting could come along and share my wild ride.  I may even have that evil thought… which I hope I never, ever, say: find me and smack me if I do… "can’t you just be happy for me?"  Ick. 

It’s "can’t", not "won’t."  Yes, I can’t "just" be happy for you.  Have you ever noticed that the word "just" never makes a statement friendlier?  "Just say no" : insulting, as if it were an easy thing.  Ditto "Why don’t you just adopt?"  Well, because NOBODY "just" adopts.  It costs many thousands of dollars, takes years, and rips your heart open.  "Just do it" – yes, sounds like one could "just" get off the couch and "do" something fitnessy – except the implication is that one should buy a $102 pair of shoes first.   

And, no, I can’t "just" be happy for you.  Come on, whack me with the Word of God.  Pick through the feelings I’m honestly admitting to and discourage the ones that make you nervous.  Please, it really helps – or, no, it actually makes me feel even worse – I always get those two mixed up.   

Anyway… here’s what I can do.  I can act happy for you, which is polite.  I can buy gifts and cards.  I can fake a big smile and congratulations when in public.  I can cry and dry my tears in private.  I can give myself a little bit of time to remember the pie (thanks to Anne Lamott).

The pie is how I remind myself that good things in life – pregnancies, pregnancies that make it to term, husbands, good jobs, babies who sleep, a metabolism that wants to keep your weight below 180, parents who are still alive and healthy – are not cut from one big pie.  Somebody else did not take my piece.  Good things are not finite, in that no one person gets to hog them all.  Someone might seem to, but they may be hiding their dark, maggoty pieces of the other pie – the alcoholism, sexual abuse, breast cancer, car accident, premature ovulation failure pie that NOBODY wants a piece of. 

So, no pie.  What I can do is take time to remember there is NO PIE.  I may be whacking myself with the word of God in order to get this through my head, by the way: I can do it to me but you can’t.   Once I remember that there is no pie, and get done crying about my own pain, I can try to be happy for you, and you, and that other you, and her.  It won’t often turn out that I could "just" be happy – easily, thoughtlessly, like it’s nothing – but I do have good days, and hope for better ones.

This means that when it’s time to be happy for me, there may not be anybody left, and I can accept that as my "just" desserts.  If I can "just" be a better, more gracious, more generous and unselfish friend, I’ll reap the benefits, and will have friends to share happiness with when happiness comes.  I’m working on it, is all I can say.