"I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry...

I'm sorry, body. I'm sorry that instead of being in awe of the amazingness you have already done for me, I focus on the one big way you have seemed to fail me. You have run marathons. You have grown and birthed 7 pounds, 13 ounces of pure awesome. You fed said bundle of awesome for an entire year. You deserve more than my anger and self consciousness towards you.

I'm sorry, stranger. I'm sorry if I stare a little longer than what is normally socially acceptable. I promise I'm not a creeper. I stare, remembering how awesome it felt to be pregnant like you. I stare, longing to be in that position again...hoping that it will be sooner rather than later, scared that (illogically) it will never happen to me again. I hope you are loving it, and thankful every day.

I'm sorry, Facebook friend. I'm sorry that when you announce you're pregnant my first reaction is jealousy. I hate it. It's not fair, and it's not how I want to react. But that's what's there. Of course there's happiness...and that's really most of what I'm feeling. It's just that first punch in the gut of jealousy comes first. When that subsides, the happiness takes over, and I like the post that I really do in fact...like. I'm sorry that the jealousy is first.

I'm sorry, friend. I'm sorry that I'm a little awkward talking about your pregnancy. I'm sorry if you feel like you need to walk on egg shells. Please share. Please be excited. Please know I'm excited and so happy for you. Thank you for your understanding. Thank you for your patience.

I'm sorry, husband. I'm sorry you sometimes get the brunt of the emotion. The breakdown of the brave face. The tears...the anger...the doubt... the quiet conversations in the dark when I say the things I'm too scared to say to anyone else. I'm sorry that sometimes I'm more negative than positive about all of it. I'm sorry if our intimacy feels like a means to an end sometimes. It never, ever is. I promise.

I'm sorry...