I’m Jealous of Other People’s Families

When you see a good family, you mourn yours

Motivational Sprites, Studio Im Art

Today I was watching a wholesome compilation video, and sprinkled throughout were many clips of parents finding out their adult children were pregnant. You could tell they were excited by the way their faces lit up and they jumped up in joy. It was lovely, but…

I was jealous. Hell, I’m still jealous.

I’ve had three kids, and not once did my parents react like that.

Not once.

When I got pregnant the first time, the only comment I got was, “At least you’re already engaged.”

Pregnancy #1

Fast forward to later, and during my childbirth classes, the instructor asked all the support people what they were grateful for as we closed in on the end of the pregnancies. Everyone commented on how happy they were that the pregnancy had gone well, how excited they were to be parents, etc.

My mother (husband was in Korea) said without hesitation that she was glad I wasn’t 16.

Yay.

In the six months before my first husband came back stateside and we moved out of state, my parents watched the baby once. Because I begged them in tears, so I could have a grocery trip by myself. Even though they knew I was struggling with work and basically being a single parent to a newborn.

It didn’t matter.

Pregnancy #2

The second pregnancy, my life was already falling apart.

My husband had begun pulling away from the responsibilities of being a father and a spouse, preferring the company of the friends who had followed him from Korea to Fort Meade. I was exhausted and frustrated, and since no one told me that antibiotics screwed with the efficacy of birth control pills, I found out the hard way as my son turned one.

The cocktail of regular and postpartum depression kicked my ass. I remember calling my parents in tears. How could I possibly survive two kids under 2?

I don’t remember what they said, good or bad, but I do remember that they didn’t offer to assist me, nor did they make any attempt to engage with either kid.

Pregnancy #3

Twelve years, a divorce and a new marriage later, my second husband and I purposely tried to have a baby. It took us nine months, a miscarriage and several heartbreaks to conceive our son. We were excited, but when I told my parents, my father said, “You know how that happens, right?”

It wasn’t new that my father lacked tact, but it hurt after all we’d gone through to have this baby. My health tanked with this ‘advanced maternal age’ — I was 35 when he was conceived — pregnancy, creating issues that I am still dealing with today.

They didn’t call when I gave birth. Or send a card. Or anything. Hell, they didn’t meet him until he was 6, when they showed up at ElderSpawn’s high school graduation.

Moving Forward

I have made peace with the fact that this is the relationship that my parents want to have with their kids and grandkids. They do not mourn the loss of these relationships, preferring to spend money on their small pack of Siberian Huskies and dog shows for said dogs.

Hell, my mother forgot to mention my birthday one year, but remembered to mention the birthday of one of their dogs. And my father says it’s basically too late to cultivate these relationships, but at least we’ll be rich when they’re dead.

Yay.

***

This is why celebrate everything the people around me. I know what it’s like to be invisible, forgotten, and I never want anyone to feel that heartbreaking emptiness and apathy.

You deserve to be celebrated for your successes, big and small.