I'm in bed playing a game on my phone at full volume. The husband is getting undressed.
"The good news." I declare.
"There isn't any ..." he is waiting expectantly.
But I know his game, this has happened before. I know the 'bad news' is that I need to turn the sound off my phone because he wants to listen to music, or sleep. Or that I have to walk the dog tomorrow morning, despite it being his turn, because he's just had an email about an early meeting. Or he has just realised the prawns in the fridge are out of date so has had to chuck them.
"Do you want the bad news?"
He looks a little disconcerted. Gets ready for bed, on his way to the bathroom he turns back again. "Are you sure?"
"Yup." I mean how important can it be? And I know he'll tell me anyway.
He's back in the room, now looking positively worried, standing at the end of the bed shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Look I've got to tell you because otherwise if you don't know you'll only get upset later."
Shit, now I'm worried.
"Oh! You've got real bad news? What is it?"
"No, it isn't real bad news, I mean its good, but it'll upset you."
It could only be one thing.
Helen lives with Steve* who the husband use to work with. They are a lovely couple we don't see them very often, maybe a few times a year. The last few of times I saw her she wasn't drinking but this has been going on longer than nine months so it clearly wasn't a (viable) pregnancy that had been stopping her. So I suspected they were trying and having difficulty, and from the email they sent they had obviously clocked the same thing about us.
Steve's email was perfect. It was sent to the husband so he could break the news gently to me. It didn't include scan pictures, or massive excitement. He even said he hadn't done a mass email because this had been quite a sensitive issue for them and they were sensitive to others now, but they wanted us to know before we saw them for lunch on Sunday that she was "quite pregnant" (Seven months, it turned out. No hiding that.).
I still found myself in floods of tears, raging against fairness and asking why it was just me who can't get pregnant.
Quite frankly even as I was wailing it I knew it was blatantly untrue. I know
I remember the years before we started trying. I would be ridiculously excited when friends announced their pregnancies. I'd bombard them with questions, write their scan dates in my diary, be the first to shoot my hand out to cop a feel as soon as they said the baby was moving, buy a present when they reached the 12 week mark and squirrel it away until the birth-day. It isn't like that anymore. And I don't blame the pregnant person, but I resent infertility and how it has changed me.
But luckily pregnancy take nine long months. So by the time the baby is actually born I am excited and delighted for my friends. As I discovered to my delight 28 minutes ago, when I got a text announcing the birth of another friend's little girl.
*names changed to protect the fertile.