Game Face

Three of my friends had babies yesterday. Three.

What are the odds of them all giving birth on the same day?  I don't know, I've never been good with statistics, but I'm pretty sure the odds are slim.  It just felt like a cruel cosmic joke. A slap in the face. A reminder (or three) of my failure.

Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled for each one of my friends.  I don't begrudge them their beautiful babies in the least.  But every new baby is a stark reminder that my arms are empty; there is not even a baby on the horizon for me.  I can't just get off my butt and fix this for myself.  There is a process I must follow to have one of my own. A really, really slow one.

Meanwhile, I stand on the sideline and watch as my friends play the pregnancy game.  Bringing home their trophies in the form of a soft, warm bundle of beauty wrapped in receiving blankets. 

And I wonder when I'll finally win this hard fought battle? When will I have a triumph of my own?