Yesterday I was leaving a Pilates class, and a woman I didn’t know was telling her friends that she was pregnant.   She was overjoyed and her friends were super ecstatic for her . . . and I’m really embarrassed to admit that I felt jealous. And I immediately thought, what am I doing? Why am I so jealous! This is ridiculous, I am pregnant! Me. Nicole. I am pregnant too. But it wasn’t the fact that there was another pregnant woman in the world that made me jealous. I was jealous because that woman was announcing her pregnancy with unbridled joy and a total disregard for anything horrible that could go wrong. She was content and confident whereas I have been afraid and anxious. She had her hope out for everyone to see while my little bubble of hope is buried deep inside of me. I protect it and covet it with every ounce of my being so that my heart doesn’t crack into a tiny million pieces if something goes wrong. I don’t have the same level of reckless exuberance like that woman . . . but I wish I did. It makes me sad when I realize that my own experiences have made me bitter and guarded. I try to tell myself, “All of this heartache will make you a better person one day.“ And I would love to believe that . . . but I’m not so sure. Right now, all I feel are sharp pangs of jealousy mixed with annoyance. . . .