My subconscious life as a rotten sibling.

Last night was a bizarre night for my dreams. Ordinarily, I don't remember my dreams. I think it's a side effect of my total denial of reality two weeks out of each month. I've learned to block out my subconscious mostly.

Last night was different.

Dream #1 involved B & I buying a house and painting a nursery. Now, we're not planning on buying anything any time soon, and I know there is NO way I'd paint a nursery without being at least 9.5 months pregnant. Even then, I think I'd use G's washable crayons just in case - something goes wrong and - poof! all trace of nursery decor is erased with a sponge and a bit of soapy water. Still, there we were, painting. Right after we'd bought the house and before I was pregnant. Now there's a surefire way to guarantee a bit of infertility, isn't it? The one thing that made sense to me was that we were painting the nursery blue. B's family, they don't make girls.

Dream #2 was far more bizarre. My mother somehow got pregnant. Despite the fact that both my parents have gone to great surgical lengths to prevent that, AND my mother is post-menopausal, there she was, knocked up.* I remember something about "why can't you just be happy for me?"**, and stranger still, I remember being happy when the baby was born. A girl, in case you're interested. I'm hoping this is my subconscious telling me that it's possible to not accept a pregnancy through its entire duration and somehow get really happy about a birth. I'm not holding my breath, but I'm definitely hoping I can get more cheerful about birth before my nephew is born 'cause I sure as hell haven't been able to get happy about his gestation.

Which - finally - brings me to my point. Yesterday, I was reading PCOS baby. She posted a really honest account of what it can be like when someone close to you gives birth while you are still struggling. I can't tell you how close to home that hit for me.

I'm struggling - both to get pregnant and to be happy that my sister is. For the first time in her life, she's really, truly, in a position to enjoy her pregnancy... and for the first time, I can't just be happy. I'm sure somewhere deep inside, I'm happy for her. I'm just having a bit of trouble finding that part of me. It's buried under my pity-party. As a result, we haven't actually spoken in months. No big fight, just a reality I can't face, and no desire to start a conversation with her pregnancy hovering like the giant elephant in the room. You know the one - no one's willing to talk about it, but everyone knows it's there.

Which makes me something like the worst sister in the world, right?

It feels that way at least.

I know it's not just me - phone lines work both ways and all... but I can see why she wouldn't be dialing my number any time soon. Especially since she's more than halfway through her pregnancy and I haven't actually called her to say congrats. Which I really need to do soon. Otherwise, I'll be congratulating her on her pregnancy at the child's high school graduation.

Not to mention I have these giant dust-collecting boxes of baby clothes that I know she could use. That I know I won't be using any time soon...


See - there I go again qualifying her pregnancy with my pity party. How on earth do I separate her life from my own feelings about my situation? If I could figure out that part of things, I'd be doing ok.





*I remember reading not too long ago that someone in blogland had a dream that their mother was pregnant.. I'm thinking that inspired my dream.. and I'm a little worried that blogland is invading my sleep now... perhaps this is another sign of FCP?

**which is weird because I'm pretty sure that if my ma turned up with a bun in her oven, she'd be the least happy one of all