Dear Bristol Palin, I'll Be Happy for You

Disclaimer: I am not a fan of the Palin’s. I’m not NOT a fan of them. I am technically a nothing of the Palins, but I am a big fan of Tina Fey as Sarah Palin, Tina Fey as Tina Fey and also Tina Fey as anyone else. (I love you Tina!)

Bristol announced her second pregnancy last week in an extremely brief blog post. The announcement begins like a Band-Aid being ripped off and goes on to say…

“I know this has been, and will be, a huge disappointment, to my family, to my close friends, and to many of you.”

Even as someone who gets in her cardio by actively avoiding feeling things, I couldn’t help but feel for her. I climbed into my time machine of emotions and traveled back to when I was pregnant with my first.

I found out I was pregnant two months before my 20th birthday. I missed the Teen Mom casting call by the length of a pop stars first marriage. From the outside, I know that must have looked like an absolute train wreck. I had been dating my boyfriend for a whole two months, so obviously we were head over heels in love, totally excited to bring another human into our lives, and blissfully ignorant as to how unqualified we were to do so.. but he was the one. We were ecstatic! At least, I was on the inside where the view was anything but grim.

The reality was: he was barely employed, I was a college drop out/soon to be beauty school drop out, and we were living in a house my mom bought. Unbeknownst to me, I was still a kid. You are always still a kid until something forces you to grow up. (Which, side note, is why Disney always kills off the main character’s parents)

Like Bristol Palin, my mother is a successful woman. She’s made a name for herself in her industry, and the amazing life she was able to provide for me was something she worked hard for. She had me at 21 and by 30 was divorced, raising me on her own while working and attending school full time. She’s a cliché, small-town-moved-to-the-big-city, success story. I know now that the disappointment in her voice when I told her I was pregnant was out of her wanting my life to be easier than hers. At any age, disappointing your parents feels shitty.

I pride myself on my ability to spot a phony from a mile away, so the barrage of fake smiles and forced congratulations quickly became more than my fragile, -reality TV star-, ego could take.

I was alone in my joy.

I immediately stopped making announcements to people and just let the rumor mill run its course. In Small Southern Town Time (SSTT) that’s roughly an hour, maybe less, depending on when the nosey neighbor “down the holler” gets wind of your condition.

We had baby number two 18 months after our first bundle of joy was born. That pregnancy announcement came when I was already six months pregnant (we already knew it was a girl) and even then, it was nearly non-existent. I didn’t think the great new job my now husband had would incite sincere congratulations and thankfully, we had moved to Washington, D.C so at the very least we didn’t have to SEE the disappointment on anyone’s face. You can, however, feel judgment, particularly from people you love, from 300 miles away.

This was a long time ago. My youngest baby is nine now. This was before social media and elaborate Pinterest-worthy pregnancy announcements & gender reveal parties became a thing. A thing I still find obnoxious.

And now I’ve had enough therapy to diagnose myself with a serious case of “Bitter Betty-ness” over this issue.

I thought I was the only recorded case of “Bitter Betty-ness” in history until one day my friend Maria made a comment on Facebook. It was an extremely subtle comment, one you wouldn’t have picked up unless you had been stricken with the same affliction. I couldn’t text her fast enough.

“OMG no one was happy for me either!”

We compared shitty reaction stories. It was just like therapy, except I didn’t have to give her my insurance card or sit on a ugly mauve couch with awkwardly placed pillows and overthink a game plan for hiding just enough of my crazy.

Maria and I agreed that if either of us had another kid we would be happy for each other. We would be each others person. And now I’d like to extend that same kindness to Bristol.

Dear Bristol,

If you are reading this, and lets be honest why wouldn’t you be? I am happy for you. Unconditionally. As President of the “Bitter Betty” support group just know that all of the members (aka Maria and myself) are rooting for you! You can sit with us.

Despite her name sounding like a cartoon character, Sarah Barry is actually a real person. She blogs about life with a husband who enjoys fixing all of the electronics she breaks, a son with ADHD who would take over the world if he wasn’t so easily distracted, a daughter who is so seriously concerned about world issues that Sarah would insist was switched at birth if she didn’t look exactly like her. Her unhealthy obsession with her mini-schnauzer Frank is well documented on her Instagram account. She can also be found fan-girling on Twitter, Pinning recipes she will never make on Pinterest, posting all of the thoughts she has out loud on Facebook, and fulfilling her dreams of being a blogger at www.SarahSomething.com.