When I unexpectedly discovered I was pregnant with my second son, I was merely nine months postpartum with my first. My husband radiated joy as I sat on the edge of our bathtub, positive test in hand, tears forming in my eyes.
“Babe, this is exciting! Aren’t you thrilled?”
“Not really. Are you?”
“Absolutely! It’s amazing! Babe, everything will be alright; you should be happy! This is wonderful news.”
As I gazed at the tears of joy in his eyes, I deeply wished to feel that happiness, but a heavy sensation in my stomach held me back. Did I want another child? Yes, without question. I was enamored with motherhood and dreamed of having many more. But I wasn’t the only one with those desires.
One of my closest friends, Lily, also longed for a second child. However, unlike me, she had been struggling with secondary infertility for months. Just two weeks earlier, while celebrating her birthday in a bustling dive bar bathroom, I had casually mentioned that I was late. As I hugged my husband, I could still hear her voice ringing in my ears from that day: “If you’re pregnant, I will seriously lose it.”
My husband, having known Lily’s husband, Mike, since middle school, suggested giving Mike a heads-up about the news. I nodded hesitantly. He stepped outside the bathroom to call Mike, while I remained inside, listening. I could hear Mike’s enthusiastic responses, repeatedly exclaiming, “That’s incredible, man! I’m so happy for you both!”
The following day, Mike and I devised a plan for how to break the news to Lily. I decided to text her, allowing her to respond without the pressure of pretending to be happy over the phone. This way, she wouldn’t feel obligated to say something she might regret, and I could avoid the heartbreak from my best friend’s reaction. I sent the message, but it took hours for her to reply. When my phone finally rang, I could tell she had been crying. She softly expressed her happiness for us, and I instinctively apologized, feeling it was the right thing to do. Then she said she needed to go.
I hung up with a swirl of mixed feelings and a heavy burden of guilt.
For the next month, we tiptoed around the subject. When it came up inadvertently, Lily would make biting remarks disguised as jokes. On days when she felt particularly bitter, she’d remind me, “At least you’re pregnant,” whenever I tried to engage in conversation. A month later, everything crumbled.
Lily and Mike were hosting a party that we arrived at early to help prepare. As the four of us gathered in the kitchen, Lily pulled out a dress she had bought for an upcoming wedding. She asked for my opinion, and I genuinely liked it. With nine weddings lined up that summer, the conversation naturally shifted to our outfits. Then, without pausing to think, I blurted something I would later regret: “I’ve been thinking about what to wear for these weddings for ages, and now I’ll be super pregnant for, like, three of them.”
The atmosphere in the room instantly shifted. Lily dropped the dress onto the counter, her face flushed with anger. She locked eyes with me and shouted, “Well, I just got my period today, so that’s just GREAT!” She stormed out, with Mike trailing behind. I fought back tears, pleading with my husband to leave with me, but he convinced me to stay. When Lily returned thirty minutes later, she never acknowledged what had happened. I sat in silence, in a home I once felt welcomed in, pretending everything was fine while ruminating over the pang in my stomach at our revelation, the guilt I carried since she found out, and the desire for another baby that now felt like a burden.
That moment, along with the challenging two years that followed, navigating Lily’s jealousy and the toxicity of our friendship, became my first significant lesson in adulthood and self-care.
Adulthood is tricky in many ways, but many challenges stem from the realization that it’s not the destination we envisioned. It’s a continuous journey filled with phases and levels we may or may not “pass.” We carry around the baggage of unhealthy relationships and friendships we’ve outgrown, connections that we’re too polite to sever. As women, we are often conditioned to bear these burdens, to prioritize others above ourselves, and to continuously offer second, third, and even fifty-fifth chances.
However, it’s crucial to recognize that self-care extends beyond skincare routines. It involves understanding when to exit toxic relationships, recognizing when we’re wasting energy chasing after good that doesn’t exist, knowing when to take a break, and living our truth while pursuing our purpose. Life becomes infinitely richer when we include ourselves in the equation, and there is so much more to us than just the appearance of youth. For more insights on navigating relationships and self-care, check out this excellent resource on family-building options at Resolve. Additionally, if you’re interested in learning more about home insemination kits, you can explore this post for further information, and check out this authority for their insights on fertility.
In summary, my pregnancy led to a rift in my friendship with Lily, teaching me invaluable lessons about self-care and the importance of recognizing toxic connections.
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