Jealousy is ugly on me. I suppose it's ugly on anyone, but it feels particularly nasty when I wear it. I would love to do away with it completely as an emotion, but it keeps cropping up again. It’s not that I'm jealous of women who are taller, thinner, prettier. I'm not jealous of women with more money or more glamorous lifestyles. I'm jealous of one person and one person only: the mother of my stepson. And maybe not for the reasons you would think.
I'm not jealous because she was married to my husband first. I was married before and I don't hold any romantic, idealized memories about that period in my life. I get the feeling my husband feels the same way about his past marriage. I'm not jealous because of the love my stepson has for her. I wouldn't want it any other way. If he stopped loving his mom, that would be cause for concern. I don't feel threatened by her. I don't feel like she's going to take my husband back and ruin my marriage. I'm not worried about any of those things. How Becoming A Stepmom Transformed My Life—For The Better
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The problem is, I'm trying to conceive. Well, my husband and I are. (He's in on it, too.) It's not going super well. I've had tests done and he's about to start on his round of poking and prodding, but no luck yet. He does have his son, however, so it seems likely that he's probably going to be okay. It's disheartening, to say the least, but I've written all of that before.
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So am I jealous that he had a child with his first wife? Sure, in a way, but it's more than that. If I'd already had a child of my own prior to our relationship, it might be different. Maybe having that experience on my own would change how I feel. I don't know. Really, it doesn't even bother me so much that he has already gone through all of this with someone else; if we had a child together, it would just mean I would have a knowledgeable partner who could help me through things, help me figure out what to do, someone who is already an amazing parent to help me navigate through it all.
What kills me, what really does me in, is the fear that I'll never share all of that with him. What if he never talks to my belly, never makes our child kick out to say hello to his or her daddy? What if he is never in the delivery room with me, sharing one of the strongest bonds a couple can ever have? What if we never get to talk about how our child is a little bit me, a little bit him, completely special and unique and perfectly wonderful, watching that sweet little sleepy face as he or she lies in the crib?