Not mine. Yours, maybe?

So, I decided to take a break from writing today. My sister confirms that I said this aloud. I am actually supposed to be taking a nap thanks to fibromyalgia exhaustion. But here I am, typing away, injuring my little wrists, my little elbows and that area right between the shoulder blades that likes to act up.

My friend came over and we were discussing my “baby allergy.” Do you remember that line from the movie, Clueless about “Monets”? Guys who only look hot from far away. Babies, I feel, look really cute from…far away.

My friend insists that I am being crushed by the weight of “baby” pressure. Even now, when no one’s asking me if I’m pregnant or getting pregnant or trying to get pregnant, there’s pressure. All of my married Orthodox Jewish friends (except for one couple) have decided to multiply. And the (young, why can’t I make friends over 30!) mommies want to discuss nursing and onesies and all these bizarre topics I’m not really interested in discussing.

And this is how I found myself sobbing, totally heartwrenchingly whimpering, after my former best friend (marriage and distance got in the way of our friendship) told me that his wife gave birth to a baby girl. This was my best friend, the baal teshuva who had played a key role in me crossing over to the frum side of life. And we’re the same age. And he has a baby. And I don’t.

My lovely friend decided to put in her two cents via email. She asked me if I was married and not frum, would I be having these thoughts at 28? I wrote back that most of my non-Jewish friends aren’t even married yet, much less thinking of having kids. Aha, perspective. Maybe, I should start hanging out with my non-Jewish friends some more?