Sounding like a broken record

I've been complaining about my pg coworker quite a bit lately. The closer her due date, the more baby talk supersedes all other topics of conversation. It's exploding from all parts of the floor. People from other bureaus are coming in to see if she's still here. It's like trying to avoid shrapnel.

I'm surprised no one notices that I never join in the baby talk. I never have a comment on it or her. I suppose that's good, because if they asked, I'd have to tell them, and I'm afraid I'm to the point where I'd do my very best to make them feel like crud. C'mon, someone ask me! Just ask and I'll give you an ear full. Let me tell you more than you ever wanted to know. Let me finally give you an opportunity to . . . shut . . . up.

This is terrible. The way I feel right now makes me sound as if I hate her. At the very least, it makes me sound like a spiteful person who hates babies. Neither is true. It's a simple case of baby overload. With infertility, my overload point isn't set very high. I'm looking forward to finding the reset button one of these fine days.

Some of this has been compounded by last week's BFN and subsequent AF and by the fact that yesterday was Mother's Day. My DH's family has a tradition of laying flowers on all of his family's graves in the Spring and around Christmas. This year, it was Mother's Day. We visited both sets of grandparents, one set of great-grandparents, and an uncle. We also walked along the graves of another set of great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, and his great-great-great-grandfather, a veteran of the Civil War who looks remarkably like my husband (I found pictures online). It's impossible not to think of families and their generations at times like this. I wondered with each cemetery we visited whether we'd ever have the opportunity to add to the family tree.