Race to the Finish

Pablo Picasso's Two Women Running on the Beach - The Race

I just found out a few weeks ago that my friend H is expecting.  She’s now 15 weeks and due around Thanksgiving.  I’m really excited for her–I know she has been wanting a baby for a long time.

H is a friend from my knitting group, and we’ve only known each other for a little over a year.  She’s not yet a super-close friend, but I’ve enjoyed getting to know her.  It was no surprise that H was ready for a baby, so the news of her pregnancy was expected, if not assumed.  In fact, H and her new husband just got engaged on New Year’s Day, and the first time I saw her after their engagement I asked her if they had thought about a date.  She said straight away that they wanted to get married soon, in the spring,  so that they could start a family. One of the knitting girls joked that they should go ahead and start trying.  H acted as if this had already crossed her mind, but perhaps they would wait until a little closer to the wedding to make the math a little less obvious.

For some reason, this bothered me at the time.  When I learned they had set the wedding date for early April, I came home pouting to Tim, “They’re going to have a baby before us.”

“I didn’t know it was race,” Tim said.

It’s not.  Still, I couldn’t help feel a twinge of jealousy.  Knowing H would most likely get pregnant before me was bothersome. It was also petty–childish.  Did I think her pregnancy would take away from me?  Was it because I wanted to be the special one?  I don’t know.  I realized the selfishness of my feelings, but they were still there. It is not a race.  Nor a competition.

Now that it’s May and the news of H’s pregnancy is real,  I don’t feel jealous. Maybe it’s because I know how helpful it will be to a have a friend nearby who goes through it all right before me. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Tim and I are now actually trying.

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