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Driving Back From a Weekend at Home
A Memory for Some Peace By Caryn L. Abramowitz
We went through some of the infertility saga – I mean, process – and then fairly quickly decided to move onto what we saw as a much better option for us: international adoption. At around the same time that we revealed our intention to adopt, Sister-in-Law No. 1 and Sister-in-Law No. 2 both announced their simultaneous (and apparently effortless) pregnancies. I thought I was supposed to feel jealous. I heard stories from other unintentionally-childless friends who broke down in tears mid-aisle in grocery stores upon learning of sibling pregnancies. So I even tried to feel jealous. But, I just really didn't.
I did feel annoyed though. Sister-in-Law No. 1 is a very sensitive person. She assumed that I would be upset at her exciting announcement and pre-empted my reaction by crying herself! It was a little bit confusing, her telling me that she was pregnant and then immediately starting to cry. I really did appreciate the sentiment, sort of, but I was unable to make her believe that I actually did feel truly happy and excited for her. I did! I swear!
Despite my close relationships with them, she and her mother spent the next several months telling me nothing about the pregnancy, leaving me out of all planning discussions and just generally being "sensitive" to my "plight," until finally I had to tell them to stop and give me a little bit of credit.
Sister-in-Law No. 2 already knew about our adoption when she announced her pregnancy. She took a different approach. Assuming that not being able to have a child naturally is devastating to me – because it would be for her – she e-mailed me a series of "alternative" methods of resolving infertility. I found her thoughtfulness to be a little bit thoughtless. She obviously did not realize that continuing to send me tips on ways to get pregnant (eating red meat, taking various herbs), while informative, also implied that our decision to adopt wasn't as good as getting pregnant. I had to tell her to stop as well. But I still don't think she understands, and I cringe at the sympathy vibes emanating from her whenever I'm around her.
That was all by way of background. At the aforementioned Bat Mitzvah, we were taking the opportunity to get some full family photos. Next to my now very pregnant sisters-in-law, I basked in the glory of my slim arms, defined waste and stretchmarkless thighs.
But then my brother-in-law posed my sisters-in-law for the corny big belly to big belly shot. They wobbled over, bumped bellies and smiled for the cameras amidst exclamations of "How cute!" and "What a great shot!"
My scrawny body and I looked on from the camera side, and inexplicably, I felt a little bit sad.
"How would you like to live here?" Andy asks me, as is our habit, as we pass the squat skyline of Wilmington. "I would die," I say rotely, in our scripted retort. I probably wouldn't die, but I definitely don't think I would like it.
We travel the next 25 or so miles until we see the bigger, but manageable, skyline of Philadelphia and Andy says, as is also our habit, "Here's our little city." I smile.