I see you.
I see you hiding behind your Facebook wall. Silent and purposefully not “liking” the photos of my babies.
I see you rolling your eyes and saying out loud how annoying it is that my profile picture is of my children and not of me. After all, you are friends with me, not my kids, you don’t want to know what’s new with them, you want to know what I’m up to. You might be blocking me from your feed. I do post a lot of photos of my babies. I can’t help it. And that profile pic IS what I’m up to. It is not me, but it kind of is me at the same time. But you already know that.
I see you liking the snarky memes about parents being assholes. Selfish, egotistical, ungrateful fucks.
I see you smiling that fake smile when we talk in the break room about our children.
I see you walking out the door when you think it’s safe to make your escape. I see you eating at your desk instead of joining us later in the week.
I see you crying in your car after going to a baby shower, or meeting your friend’s new bundle of joy or hearing another pregnancy announcement from someone who didn’t even try to get pregnant. Maybe I don’t catch you every time. But I know you do it.
I see you at the doctor, staring at the photos of the babies on the wall, wondering if that will ever happen to you. Thinking that maybe it won’t. But going back anyway.
I see you staring at me in the waiting room, a mother, wondering what the fuck I’m doing in there and wishing me out of your sight.
I see you out shopping, trying to avoid looking at the cute baby things. I see you, very rarely, pick up something from the rack. You always put it back. Except that one time. That special thing you saw and couldn’t help but buy. No one sees it because it is hidden in the back of a closet right now, but you think of it often.
I see you cringing at every insensitive and thoughtless complaint about pregnancy or parenting.
I see you watching a mother hug and cuddle her child as she waits to checkout. I see you watching another scream at her kid in the backseat while the child cowers. I see the rage in your eyes as you witness both encounters.
I hear you screaming. Even if you’re only doing it on the inside.
I see you struggling, even though you are trying not to show it.
Don’t worry. You’re hiding it well.
It’s just that since I’ve been there too, I know you’re there. I want you to know that I see you, that you’re not alone, and even though it feels like it will -and even though it feels like it will – the anxiety, anger and despair really won’t last forever, even if there is no guarantee of a biological child as an end result of all the turmoil.