For the past few years I have used my design skills to help friend’s out with baby shower invites, birth announcements and kids birthday invitations. Usually I don’t mind spending my time and resources to help a friend plan a big event for her little one. My motto has always been that what goes around, comes around. When we get our baby I’ll have friends beating the door down to offer their creative services. Right?
This was all fine until my baby died. In a few more weeks I would have been making invitations for my baby shower. I would have been designing art for my nursery. I would have been toying with my birth announcement designs.
A really close friend has a two-year old and is now expecting baby No. 2. Last month she asked if I would design his 2nd birthday invitations. I think I was drinking at the time because it did not occur to me how hard this would be. I agreed and have since “forgotten” about it every weekend, every evening, every slow work day.
It is not that I don’t want to help her out, nor do I not want her kid’s birthday to be super special. Auntie Belle loves that kid so much. Of course she wants him to have another kick-ass invitation in his scrapbook.
But… I am finding it so damn hard to do anything involving other people’s children right now. It’s hard enough to be around them during parties and dinners, let alone to sit in my empty house, in the room I dub my sewing room which is really supposed to be my baby’s room, and spend my barren time designing invitations to celebrate another woman’s joy.
It sucks. It hurts. It makes me want to crawl under a rock and not come out until everyone I know is in menopause. Even worse, it makes me feel like a huge douche bag for having these thoughts. Why am I not over this yet? Why am I still so fucking angry at every pregnant belly, every child’s party, every mother and stroller?