This kind of thing

There are days when polite lunchtime conversation is simply more than I can bear.

Sitting around a lunch table with colleagues doesn't usually sound so bad to me--I really, genuinely like everyone I work with. But two of my eight teammates are pregnant, and one has a wife who's expecting, and one has a daughter-in-law who just delivered a baby.

No other wing is really safe, either. My dearest friend at school is so pregnant she's about to burst, and another fellow team leader's wife is about to give birth to a fourth bouncing baby boy.

There are days when I walk in to lunch a bit late, perhaps after grading one last round of reading comprehension quizzes or analyzing and reworking yet another week's worth of lessons. And when I arrive, I am blasted by the same late pregnancy anticipation conversations--"last night, we SAW the leg as he moved" or "I told him I still wanted to hang out even if I'd be pregnant out to here" or "I know I'll be huge on our trip to D.C., but I still want to do this and that and blah and blah."

There are days when I am held in my chair only by my southern hospitality. My genteel upbringing is the only thing keeping me from jumping up out of my seat and screaming, "Could we PLEASE for the love of GOD talk about something besides your fugging babies!!!"

Instead, I chew quietly and stare at my food, smiling when I'm supposed to and laughing when it seems appropriate. I'm pretty sure my abstinence of speech goes unnoticed, or if people do notice, no one has said anything to me about it. I'm not sure I want or need them to, actually. I know grief, once it's past the point of acceptance for most everyone else, becomes tiresome for the people observing the bereaved.

I'm hard to understand, I suppose. I will convince you of my okayness, totally sell you on the idea that I'm healed and fine, brushing off any helpful attempts at questioning. I will keep the topic at arm's length--Brian and I rarely talk about it anymore. But still.

But still.

There are also days when I am happy and joyful and have a spring in my step. (More so now that spring is closer and closer at hand.) I'll walk and talk and share funny pregnancy stories of my own and give helpful tips that no one gave me and be a generally agreeable person to be around.

The really shitty part is, though, I never really know which of those people I'll be when I wake up that morning. Debbie Downer or Susie Sunshine.

I suppose this kind of thing will do that to you.