Lord Jesus, someone else is having a baby.
And I really am happy for them.
But I am hurting too.
Sometimes those two truths live inside my heart at exactly the same time, and I do not know what to do with them.
I see the announcement. I hear the words, “We’re pregnant.” I see the ultrasound picture, the tiny shoes, the clever announcement, the growing belly, or the joy spreading across someone’s face.
And for a moment my heart sinks before I can stop it.
Then guilt comes.
I think, “I should only be happy.”
I wonder what kind of person feels sadness when someone else receives such beautiful news.
Lord, please help me understand that another person’s joy and my grief can exist together.
Their baby is good.
Their happiness is good.
And my aching is real.
One does not cancel the other.
I do not want their child instead of mine.
I do not want their blessing taken away.
I simply wish there were room beside their good news for ours too.
Sometimes, Lord, I want to ask:
When will it be our turn?
How many announcements will we celebrate before we finally have one of our own?
How many baby showers will we attend?
How many newborns will we hold and then hand back?
How many times will someone say, “You’ll be next,” without realizing how deeply those words can hurt?
How many times will I smile in public and cry when I get home?
You know.
Jesus, protect my heart from jealousy becoming bitterness.
When envy appears, help me bring it immediately to You rather than allowing it to grow.
But please do not make me ashamed simply because something hurts.
Sometimes I am not jealous of the person.
I am grieving the experience.
I want to know what it feels like to look at a positive pregnancy test and realize everything has changed.
I want to tell the people I love.
I want to watch a belly grow.
I want to hear a heartbeat.
I want to prepare for a baby knowing that the waiting has an ending.
Or, Lord, I want the adoption call.
I want someone to say, “You’ve been chosen.”
I want to stop wondering whether the nursery will ever belong to a child.
I want our turn.
And I know that life does not work by turns.
There is no heavenly waiting line in which another person’s pregnancy means I have been moved backward.
Their conception did not take ours away.
Their child is not the child who should have belonged to us.
Their joy is not evidence that You have forgotten us.
Help me remember that.
When I am able, give me the grace to celebrate with them sincerely.
Let me ask about their baby.
Let me rejoice when they hear the heartbeat.
Let me admire the ultrasound picture.
Let me pray for a safe pregnancy and delivery.
Let me love their child without secretly keeping score.
But Jesus, when the pain is too fresh, give me permission to step away quietly when I need to.
If I cannot attend every baby shower, gender reveal, baptism, or celebration without falling apart, help me make that decision with love rather than resentment.
Give the people around me compassion enough not to demand that my grief disappear simply because someone else is joyful.
And when I go home afterward and finally cry, sit beside me.
You do not need me to pretend.
You already know.
You know how many pregnancy announcements have come since we began waiting.
You know which ones hurt unexpectedly.
You know which due dates I remember even though I wish I didn’t.
You know the calculations my mind makes automatically:
“If we had conceived when we first started trying, our child would be this old now.”
“If that treatment had worked, we would have a toddler.”
“If the adoption had happened then, there would be a child sitting at this table.”
Lord, gently take those imaginary calendars from my hands.
I cannot live simultaneously inside every life that might have been.
Help me live faithfully inside the life I actually have today.
And still, Jesus, I ask:
Please let there someday be an announcement for us.
If it is Your will, let us someday hold a positive pregnancy test with trembling hands.
Or let the telephone ring with the adoption news for which we have waited.
Let us experience the strange joy of telling the people who have prayed beside us:
“It happened.”
Until then, teach me to rejoice with those who rejoice without believing that their joy requires me to deny my sorrow.
Mary, when I encounter another expectant mother and my heart aches, keep me close to you.
St. Joseph, stay near husbands who watch the women they love struggle through these moments and do not know how to make the pain disappear.
Blessed Fulton Sheen, intercede for those waiting for the gift of parenthood.
Holy Family, protect friendships and families from the misunderstandings infertility can create.
And Lord, bless the baby whose announcement stirred all these emotions in me.
Protect this little life.
Bless this mother.
Bless this father.
Let their child be healthy, cherished, protected, and loved.
Their baby is not my enemy.
Their joy is not my loss.
And my tears do not mean that I love them less.
Jesus, hold all of it together for me—the happiness, the envy, the guilt, the hope, the grief, the love, and the longing.
And when I whisper, “When will it be us?” and Heaven seems silent, stay with me in the silence.
Give me enough grace to celebrate their miracle while I continue asking You for ours.
Always remember Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Holy Family! Help us to be a holy family and pray for us!
Amen.