The Second One is the Hardest

The ridiculously slender Dutchess of Cambridge (f.k.a. Kate Middleton) and Prince William (f.k.a. hottie til he started resembling Daddy Charles) were visiting the Big Apple earlier this week with an embryo in tow. Oh Kate, didjya have to? I mean, didn’t you just give birth the other day, slim down to your negative-two clothing size, like yesterday? You already had one. Did you have to rush and conceive again to prove to the world how fertile you are? On the other hand, I guess you have taxpayers to answer to…I know, I know, we get it, you’re perfect. Your hair is immaculate, your body impeccabily slender. They never let you talk but we assume you’re smart enough to land royalty for a husband. And now, this. You’re pregnant. Already!  To add insult to injury, you’re effin skinny while pregnant!!

I don’t know about you, fellow reader, but news of the second one is hard. It’s a tad more nuanced, and heavier, in a way. When your friends conceive for the first time, there’s the novelty, and there’s also relief that they were able to conceive (because they used three different fertility apps, preemptively cut down on drinking, caffeine, working hours, and had so much unspoken tension with the spouse as to whose eggs or sperms weren’t working.) With news of the second one, there’s a relief, too, because you know there are no stupid babyshowers and the level of anticipation is much more muted. You might hear about the pregnancy just once or so and then next thing you know, you get the announcement with the perfunctory first-born-is-now-an-older-brother/sister photo and you add the kid’s name to your friend’s contact information (“son-Kyle, daughter-Christine, husband–Jon (likes the 49ers)”) because there is no other way you would remember it. But it’s heavier because it’s the moment when it hits home that people your own age are (gasp!) creating families.

Families? Aren’t you just born into one? What? We have the option to create our own? Huh? Like, deliver an heir and then more heirs directly out of our vaginas? Like, mini-people that carry our genetic material that you legally, um, basically, own? And take photos that become holiday cards? And make memories, like go on family vacations, to, uhh, family destinations? That’s what our parents did! And you…you who were vomiting the other day from having too many lemon drops…and you with whom I wore matching Halloween costumes the other day…and you who got suspended from high school for your prank and…you guys are making families?? Like, you mean it. You want to be grown up and shit. You actually are serious about this family thing!

…but…but….but what about me? I mean, I’m kinda sorta well maybe um actually EXACTLY the same age as you? I’m…um…still kissing frogs and stuff and going on bad first dates? Wait, you’re telling me, that during the same time I’ve stayed at the same job, gone to yoga classes, dated the same guy (albeit with the two “broken up” episodes inbetween), and stayed in the same apartment and took the same winter coats for dry cleaning in May like an effin annual ritual, you did stuff our parents did at our age?? Like, breeding, getting life insurance and selecting schools and vacationing in kid-friendly resorts??  Why would you do that? I mean, you’re my age. That’s…just…so…foreign… Besides, it’s like, a legitimately grown up thing to do. Why? Why?! Why?!?! Why did you have to go and have a second one and make me feel extra pathetic??

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