I Just Don't Think It's Funny

I am having a problem.

I am tired of infertility and loss. People keep telling me that I should be over and done with it. But how can I get over something that is still happening? Just because it isn't happening to me doesn't mean that it is over.

I am so mad about my sister-in-law's loss. I am so angry about it that I could just spit.

I am so infuriated about Jen's loss. It makes me want to hit something (for the record, I am not a violent person and the only thing I have ever hit is a pillow. . . so that gives you an idea of how upset it makes me).

I don't know if this is normal. I mean, to be honest, I feel as if my perspective is just a bit too far skewed lately.

Let me give you an example. Did you see that "Go the F*ck to Sleep" book that circulated around the internet last week? I received it through two separate e-mails, saw it on countless FB walls, and it came across my Twitter feed half a dozen times.

That book makes me mad. The book makes me want to tell parents to "Grow the F*ck Up." You have been blessed with a child to rock to sleep. Do you know how many women and men would kill for that honor and privilege?

One of my friends pointed out that it's easy for me to feel this way, because my kids sleep well. Well, they didn't always. My blog is a living, breathing record of Will's poor sleep, especially when he was a newborn. But even after he started sleeping well, he still is a sensitive sleeper and our bedtime routine for him is lengthy and includes stories, "rock-rock", and songs. From my "logical" brain, I know that the book is just making light of the fact that kids and their endless stream of "needs" and "wants" can drive a person a little. . . twitchy. I am not going to sit here and post that I never feel tired, frustrated, or just ready to plunk Will and Emma in their beds and head downstairs to conk out in front of the television. I'm human, I get tired, so I "get it".

But then, I think of all the women whose arms are empty, still waiting. And I think of my friend, Elizabeth. Her daughter, Peyton, was diagnosed with a terminal pediatric brain tumor in November. They are living each day at a time, knowing that days are all they have left. Days, people. Months, if they are lucky.

And Ben Towne's mommy? She would give her life - the very breath from her body - to be able to read her son a bedtime story just one more time. Or to get him a drink of water. Or whatever he wanted. She'd get it for him and thank her lucky stars, no matter the time of day or night.

But. . . I don't know if this is normal. To read this story that everyone else on the planet thinks is funny and to almost have a rage-like reaction to it? Oh, and this? This is just an example. Lately, I just feel as if my sense of humor has been misplaced. I can't see things as funny when I see so many good people hurting. This isn't to say that I never laugh or that I feel angry all of the time. But when it comes to things like this, I am decidedly "off".

What is wrong with me?