Debbie Downer

(NOTE:  Somehow this post was deleted, so I had to re-submit and copy and paste in everyone's comments.  Blogger is so weird sometimes...)

Two days ago, Dan and I went to a football party at a former frat brother's house.  It was supposed to be a football play-off party meets Belgian beer tasting for twenty-some adults.

We walked into a damn daycare.

That's right. Every one of his friends had brought their adorable toddlers and babies, sixteen in all, each of them teetering around in tiny jerseys. Coohing, wailing, giggling chaos everywhere. Twice, Dan stepped on plastic toys, only to be screeched at by an enraged little one. The girls were all trading mom war stories. "Then, she got cheerios stuck in her ear!" "My car looks like an episode of Hoarders with all the Dora the Explorer paraphanalia and baby books everywhere!" "I couldn't help but sob when I walked Connor into kindergarten this past September! Did you cry cry too when you walked Madison in??"

I was the only woman there who was not a mother.

I'm the one in yellow who isn't smiling with her eyes.
Play "count the kids" if you don't believe me.

At one point, Dan's friend Trey smiled at me and said pointedly, "I hoped I would see you drinking water tonight!" I was able to smile back and respond with one of my standard lines, "Hmm... not yet, but we'll keep you posted!"

I know what you're thinking.

You: Good for you, Christen! I bet you stayed that classy all night, didn't you?

Me: Errr...

You: Are you saying that you indulged in some of the aforementioned Belgian beers?

Me: Um, that and spiked ciders.

You: Wow, you? But you hardly ever drink much! I bet you were quite the life of the party, weren't you?

Me: Sure, if by "life of the party" you mean that I scared off a stranger by blurting out my baby-making history and then cried on the cab ride home.

You see, Jenna, a distant friend's wife, sauntered up to me after beer number 4. She is my age with three kids under five, so she has no concept about waiting for a baby. She probably got pregnant with a set of triplets an hour after the party ended. Anyway, she started her conversation with me, "Hi, I'm Jenna. You're Christy, right? No? Oh, well, I was close. So when are you and Dan going to have kids? "

Me: "Hmm... nothing yet, but we'll keep you posted!"

J: "Oh." (I-must-figure-out-the-mystery-of-this-weird-girl-hanging-around-all-these-kids-is-she-a-stranger-danger??) "Are you guys trying?"

Me: ...

J: "How long have you been trying?... Oh, that's a while... Miscarriage, huh? ... Well, that's pretty common from what I've heard. Not that I've gone through it. My womb is made of titanium... are you doing stuff to fix whatever is going on?...You might want to do more than see a doctor...What's an HSG?... Blue dye through your cervix?...yuck... (aghast silence)... I think I hear my son calling for me...GottaGo!"

Life of the party, that's me. I'm also available for bar mitzvahs.

I try not to get into the "Why others and not us too?" that much with all of this because I know I haven't had to go through the hell that some other couples have. But tonight was the first time I did wonder, "Why?"

You see, I went to grab some carbs to sober up after scaring away that party guest and realizing that I didn't even care because she was kinda bitchy anyway. When I got to the counter, I reached for a dessert that was placed on a plate on top of the microwave. Dan slapped my hand away and hissed, "You don't want that!" When I asked, "Why not?", he simply pointed at a former frat brother who I'll refer to as Stiffler for this post, since he is remarkably similar to that jackass from the American Pie movies. Think a major drinker and all-around-sketchball. Dan and I don't really care for him, but we occasionally bump into him at huge frat reunions. Anyway, Dan pointing to Stiffler was enough to dissuade me because that dude is not someone you would trust with your baked goods, but I found out later that night, those brownies were filled with an extra ingredient.

This loser had baked pot brownies and brought them to an event with responsible adults and kids running around.

That's fifteen kids that would love some sugary brownies, I'm sure, but thank goodness the tainted treats were put up high enough where they couldn't reach them. Not to mention that unsuspecting adults might have not heard about the illegal ingredient and had a very different night than they set out to. Thank goodness Dan have been there. Eventually, Stiffler's wife had the sense to put them away completely.

After making a mental note to never, ever invite him to a party at our house, I couldn't help but think, "Stiffler has a two-year-old daughter of his own."

Why others and not us too?

This night set me back, guys. I thought I was in a good place, feeling hopeful about the new year, and now I'm needing to rally again. I go to a baby shower for one of my dearest friends next weekend and I'm praying that I can do a round of how-much-toilet-paper-will-wrap-around-the-mother-to-be's waist and eat some cake and hug my friend who I love so much and not be asked any insensitive baby questions.

That, or maybe I'll drink too much punch and bum out a guest there.

Cue trumpet: Womp, wah, waaah.