Fertility Diary: Baby Envy - NYTimes.com Recently, a friend called to tell me she was pregnant. "I know you're having fertility issues, so I wanted you to hear it from me," she said as tears streamed down my face. "Congratulations," I said in an even voice, hoping she wouldn't hear me choking up. "I wanted to tell you in person, but I haven't gotten the chance," she said, and I silently thanked the universe for small miracles. On the phone, I was able to hear the story of how she got pregnant right after her recent wedding even though she was 40, and how she just passed her amniocentesis - without letting on that I was sobbing. But in person I'd have had no recourse. I couldn't pretend to be happy at such wonderful news. These are the days of ugly emotions. Infertility hijacks your schedule, damages your relationship with your spouse and unleashes in you terrible jealousy of other women, women who conceive easily, without thought, without drugs, without dozens of days lost to medical intervention. Women whose biggest problems are swollen feet. My reaction was visceral. Words couldn't explain it. When I finally got off the phone with a promise to meet her later for a manicure (I wouldn't), I tried to stop crying long enough to explain it to my husband. Of course I didn't want her to suffer through miscarriages, as I had, or to start IVF, with its expense, uncertainty and statistical odds so very slim for a woman my age, 42. No, I wouldn't wish this journey on anyone, even though I know there are women who have it much worse, who have been trying for so much longer, who have suffered more miscarriages and stillborns, who can't conceive at all, or who don't have a wonderful, loving husband, as I do. I am so grateful that his were the arms I fell into when I heard her news. He held me close and when I finally stopped weeping, I wailed, "How could she get pregnant so quickly? She's so immature! My husband stiffened and pulled away: this line of thinking didn't become me. Her pregnancy has nothing to do with us, he said. Babies are not like lottery tickets, where one person's win means another's loss. I should be happy for her. I should, I knew that. But I also knew from obsessively reading fertility blogs that there are women with malicious thoughts, who stare murderous daggers at the sight of any pregnant woman, women who can't stand to be anywhere there are children. I love being around children. Sitting on the floor with a toddler or holding an infant in my lap reminds me why I am embarking on this journey. When I wander the park with children and see how fascinated they are by the dandelions, I forget the indignities of science and feel love pouring out of me, as the tears are now. I feel most myself with them - that I am meant to be bringing my own kin into the world. I try not to let my fertility schedule take over my life. I nurture my new marriage, making entertainment plans like a normal person with a normal schedule, working to be grateful for everything that I have. But hearing the "I'm with child" announcement reminds me of my empty womb and its scars. Other people should have nothing to do with me - but, somehow, they do. It's ugly thinking and I feel ashamed. What do I expect? Of course women around me will keep getting pregnant. I can't hide from it, and I don't want to seal myself off in a world with other fertility-challenged women (just as I didn't want to spend my single days on bitter girls" nights out). I don't want my friends to hide their news from me, either. But I wish they would have someone else tell me, or e-mail me, because I just can't seem to react in the moment with unfettered joy. I know it will happen for me. But at those moments, preparing for my first round of IVF, I needed a few private moments to absorb friends" announcements. I would be happy for them. I will. Soon.