Don't Drink and Devulge

This weekend, I went to a friend's wedding and got totally annihilated. Vodka sodas, champagnes, Pinot Grigios ... topped off with a couple beers at the after party until 3 a.m.

So it's understandable that when I found myself sitting at a table in the hotel lobby with my girlfriends at 2 a.m. and one of them once again asked me when BumpMister and I were going to start having kids, I burst out in tears. Like, a faucet. Smearing my perfectly applied liquid black eyeliner all over my face. It was not pretty.

While I was spilling my guts, I remember telling myself, "Jeez BumpBlogger, you are so going to regret this in the morning. Stupid." And then I blacked out.

Fastforward eight hours to me stumbling into the hotel bathroom with a massive headache and a rumbling stomach. It took me one look in the mirror to remember the night before and my drunken breakdown. As I washed the black streams of eyeliner off my cheeks, I waited for the regret to sink in. And waited. And then I realized, I felt OK. I actually felt better than OK. I felt relieved.

I never thought it would feel so good to tell my friends about our troubles with infertility. It was like this huge weight had been lifted off our shoulders. I instantly realized that I had really underestimated the compassion of our friends.

It's the little things like this that keep making our struggles a tiny bit easier, and keep reminding me why I should be grateful for the life that BumpMister and I have right now, regardless of what may come. So this Labor Day, I'm thanking my friends for helping me cope with my hard labor in the hopes of having a real Labor Day of my own in the future.