A week ago today I attended a department potluck, where I reflected on how differently I would have experienced the event if a) I had never experienced infertility, or b) I wasn’t currently knocked up.
One of my profs is expecting twins in May.
Someone asked me if I’d seen “The Waitress” and commented on a line from the movie, to the effect that “you can’t be ‘a little pregnant.'” (I would think that anthropologists, of all people, especially in the 21st century, would know better than to make propositional statements that reflect absolute dichotomies.)
There was a charming 2-year-old present who greeted the 13-year-old girls with a floppy-handed wave and the words, “Hi babies!”
I felt a now-familiar admixture of melancholy and contentment in response to all these things. I don’t envy my professor’s pregnancy, now, but I know how hard it would have been to be around her if things hadn’t turned out the way they did for me last fall. I know from being a part of this online community how false the statement from the movie is. And the toddler charmed me rather than broke my heart, although I couldn’t help but think that had I conceived when I wanted to, I’d have a child that age already.
Potluck. You never know what you’re going to end up with.