An e-mail from Parenting Magazine.
They were thanking me for my subscription.
And at this point, an all new slew of expletives flew from my mouth.
Prime among them being “Someone is seriously F****** with me!”
It was a friend who I forwarded the e-mail to who pointed out that the address wasn’t mine.
The name was. The e-mail address obviously. But the actual address? Not so much.
So research commenced, and it was discovered that there was a woman with my name at the address listed in the e-mail.
A woman who likely has a similar e-mail address to me as well. Maybe off by just one letter.
In fact, upon thinking about it – I realized that I’ve gotten e-mails for this woman in the past. There was one that involved an interview to become a nanny, and there have been several others that have been sent pertaining to her home town from some sort of local government official.
This woman, with my name and a too close for comfort e-mail, is clearly on her way to motherhood.
Living the life I wanted to be living. In another state in another town. Preparing for the new baby about to enter her life by ordering the magazines and signing up for all the freebies she can get.
I can’t quite figure out how she could be related to the formula I was sent. Or the other mailings for that matter. It doesn’t make sense that these things would be meant for her, yet would still be coming to my address. But I’m consoling myself with the fact that these things are all somehow related. That rather than it all being some cruel joke, it is instead a random twist of faith.
A woman with my name. Preparing for the life I thought I would be living by now.
Nothing cruel or insensitive about it. Just life. The way things are.
Random and chaotic and not always so easy to explain.
Either way, I’ve made several calls over the weekend. To every number on every piece of baby mail I’ve been able to gather up. Removing my name from lists and asking to never be sent another piece of baby paraphernalia again.
I’m sure it won’t be the end. Sure that there will still be other things that pop up in my mailbox, and even in my inbox for this woman with my name living an alternate version of the life I wanted to lead.
But at least now, I feel like there is an explanation of sorts. A simple understanding for how this kind of mistake could happen.
Which makes me feel worlds better than I did when I thought that perhaps my doctor’s office had signed me up. Or even worse – that someone somewhere was intentionally trying to bring me to tears.
The formula is still sitting on my floor, but it does have an impending home. My co-worker, who had her baby a little over a month ago, will be putting it to good use. I just have to bring it in to work and have it ready for her the next time she brings him by for a visit.
And in the meantime, I’m trying to remember that there are aspects to my life that I am loving right now that wouldn't be possible if I had a brand new little one in my arms requiring my constant love and attention.
There is always a reason.
And I am hopeful that someday soon, I will understand the reason behind all of this.
Until I do though, I’m living a life I wouldn’t be able to live if I was today the brand new mommy I hoped I would be this time last year.
And maybe, just maybe, that girl with my name in another state and another town would be mildly jealous of some of the pieces of the life I’m living as well.
I wonder if she’d want to trade?
