up your butt, becky

I've been so normal lately. I don't cry at random, I don't scream at people from the driver's seat of my car, I don't even mind watching Jon & Kate Plus 8 on DHC. But today, I was tested. And I flunked (yes, mom, like Home Ec). Said examination ended with yours truly in the Pottery Barn bathroom, crying and gasping and transported back to the Icky Place. And it's all stupid Becky's fault.

I was at work. It was a good day. My shirt was freshly pressed, my hair turned out okay, and I felt merry. I'm excited because I'm ovulating again, I'm happy because there's hope, I'm feeling at long last like I'm not entirely fragile. Then came Becky. As I'm ringing up an older lady, I see her waddle in. Cutely pregnant, huge Pottery Barn Kids bag, and smiling away like someone who just doesn't have a clue. As she's waiting her turn (and I'm wondering whether I could fake a seizure convicingly enough to get out of having to interact with her) she recognizes another girl shopping the Barn. "Megan??" Megan turns around and obviously hasn't seen Becks for some time because there's immediate squealing. Squealing as women only do when there's a) an engagement ring on the finger or b) a baby in the uterus. Or maybe if there's puppies. Whatever. Anyway: "BECKYYYYYY! OH MY GOD YOU ARE THE CUTEST PREGNANT LADY EVER!!!! YOU MUST BE SO EXCITED!" Oh, My, God. Perfect. I already know what's coming, and I already feel my strong facade cracking down the middle. They start in, talking about Becky's latest ultrasound, about Becky's nursery purchases, about Becky's hope that it's a girl, about how Becky is just so excited to be a mom, about how CRAZY it is how fast it happened but that's just Becky's family, all Fertile Myrtles who have big huge babies one after another. Then Bitch-ecky says "I'm SICK of being pregnant! I was so sick before and now my belly has just gotten so big and I want it over. I keep outgrowing my shirts!" Oh, isn't that a shame. Poor you, Becky. My heart really goes out to you, idiot. See, I didn't want MY pregnancy over. I wanted more of it, 30 more long, tiring weeks. Even during pregnancy #1, when I barfed and ached and felt like all around shit, I was quick to say every single bit of it was A-okay as long as the little one was healthy in there. So I'm not buying the whole "you'll see when you're pregnant" bit. Because I was pretty damn miserable when leaving the couch was on most days an insurmountable feat, but thankful every minute to have that little life growing inside of me.

Well anyway, that shoved me over the edge. I'd heard about enough out of Big Becks about her big, stupid, perfect pregnancy. I finished packaging the old lady's reindeer ornaments and just walked away. Told my manager I needed to go to the ladies room, ignored his dumbfounded look (one doesn't normally leave a line at the register to tinkle), and hid out in the bathroom. Looking at my tear streaked face in the mirror, I just felt so ....... sad. Sad that I have to be this person now, this person whose happiness for others is overruled by her own heartache. Sad that I couldn't have been out there on the sales floor chatting nurseries with the likes of Becky. Just sad that I'm different, broken, sadder than I was before. Someone who cries in mall bathrooms.

Thanks for that, Big Butt Becky. And by the way, pink is not your color.