I won a prize at the party for my shoes. There is no confidence booster like winning a prize for Sexiest Shoes at the party, even if you know deep down it was rigged for you to win because everyone laughs to see a belly teetering in wedge heels.
Men competed for Oldest and Foulest Shoe (no, it was not Rocco, whew). All of us competed for Shoes that Have Seen the Most Miles (China). It was a fun ice breaker even though most of us knew each other.
I met a new face at the party. Not many people knew we were pregnant, so I felt like the belle of the ball with my belly. Poor new gal happened to be in my circle long enough to have to hear me accept congratulations over and over. This new gal told me she has three children. She is a trained nurse, but currently not working.
You know, she says, I really wanted to be at home with my children.
Isn't that just soooooooo nice for you, thought Bitter Infertile Roccie, constantly jealous of every family story she hears that sounds like a fairy tale to her.
I do a good job hiding my bitterness. I made some jokes to new gal why she had to endure such revelry around my pregnancy. Had she known me that last two years, she would have been corned with my Fertility War battle stories. She would have known not to get trapped with me at a party unless she wanted to know all the details of my uterus and constant pursuit of pregnancy.
The Fertile shakes of her wolf clothing. She has four retrievals, two cancelled retrievals and more FET than I can remember under her belt. Sadly, she also has several miscarriages in the whole process. She is clearly healed and lively when she shares her story.
I tell her I love her and ask her if she would like to be my best friend forever and ever.