There's that scene in "Julie and Julia" where Julia gets the letter from her sister, saying she is pregnant. Then she cries.
I get that.
And I hate it.
When I find out an old friend is pregnant or had a baby, I cry and get mad and angry. I'm happy for them. But disappointed with the universe for letting me down.
I may never have children. And given my increasing age, I should stop wanting them, as risks to their health increase.
But logic doesn't heal a broken heart.