I'm sorry for expecting you to understand what it was like to not be expecting.
To those of you who had a front row seat to the last three years of my infertility struggles, I’m sorry. I would like to refund your tickets and gift you VIP passes to the follow-up concert, which has two special guests: my twin daughters.
I’m so sorry I put on a terrible show. There was a lot going on backstage. I tried. I got dressed, I walked onto the stage, but I didn’t know the words to the songs and I frankly didn’t care to learn them. And because of that, I put on a bad show. To all my fans who stuck with me through it, I’d like to say this:
I’m sorry for not being there for you.
I’m sorry for not getting excited about your wedding.
I’m sorry about not taking you out for birthday drinks.
I’m sorry for not coming to your baby shower.
I’m sorry for not liking pictures of your growing belly on social.
I’m sorry for not sending gifts or flowers when your child was born.
I’m sorry for not getting my shots so I could visit your baby.
I’m sorry for not asking about him at dinner.
I’m sorry for crying when you brought him up.
I’m sorry for expecting you to understand what it was like to not be expecting.
I know I don’t have to apologize, and I know that no one expects me to say I’m sorry for being disconnected, cranky, and selfish over the last few years, but I want to. It was ugly. I was unhappy and it made me uninterested and unreliable.
And now, I am on the other end and I’m ready to get up and sing my heart out. If it’s bad this time, I have no excuse.
I have friends who are still going through some struggles, and to them I say: I want to help you, but I don’t want to overstep. I certainly don’t want to overshare with you. And just so you know, I forgive you for all you can’t do right now. I’ll be here waiting for you when you figure out your next act and in the meantime, I still remember the greatest hits of our friendship, and I know you’re gonna make a giant comeback.
