Monday morning gloom

I had a lovely afternoon with a couple of friends and their 8-month old wee son yesterday. I hadn't seen the baby since he was born, and he's one big boy now, who takes after his father (very tall bloke, he is). He's really sweet and cuddly and smiles a lot, and he didn't even cry when I took him - actually even smiled (the baby. the father is nice, but not that cuddly).
I love babies, I do. I love children all ages for that matter. They could probably get whatever they ever want from me. Anything for them to not ever point at me and go "you mean bad person", and to preferably pick me to go play or look at bunnies or tell them a story before bed.

Being the bitter cow I am, though, I'm not likely to leave it at that, am I.

It is frustrating, isn't it (or is it just me?), when you haven't seen someone in a long time, not to be able to talk properly, among girls or blokes as the case may be... Adults anyway. The baby is going to be here, and so is the father/mother. My friend will never just be her anymore, she's me-and-my-baby-and-the-father-of-my-baby now... whereas I'm still me-me-me-me-me. And me.

Although I did have a lovely time (and I know it's the second time I say this and some might oppose that I sound as if I'm trying to convince myself, but I did, honest), and I really hope they did too (how could they not however, when they were spending time with me-me-me-me-me. And me.), on the metro going home I couldn't help but wonder (how very Carrie Bradshaw of me) if really that didn't mean that I was failing my duties as a friend, a person, a girl.

As a friend, because here I am somehow criticising the fact that for the next twelve years, I'm not having a proper date with my friend when I should just rejoice in the fact that she is obviously one very happy gal; as a person, because let's face it, I am kind of jealous that this hasn't happened to me (but I'm gearing up for the best April of my life so far); as a girl, because well, I'm soon past procreation age, aren't I.

Bleargh.