Here's a little fact about myself I don't like to admit — hospital dramas make me cry like a baby. Hearing the theme song is enough to get me weepy.

I blame my family.

With two children under three and a husband working his way up the corporate ladder, my chances for thrills and turmoil are limited. Last week, the most exciting thing that happened to me involved dog vomit and quick reflexes.

So when I received an e-mail from a old friend telling me she had started a serious relationship with one of my former boyfriends, it was big news.

Big.

New romance. Skeletoned closets. Love triangle.

For the first time in a long time, I had that queasy feeling I get on job interviews. It's the feeling of uncertainty. Of possibility.

But a half hour later, as I walked my girls around the neighborhood, I realized the knot in my gut was not my own.

This was not my excitement. This belonged to somebody else.

"Mommy, mommy. That’s Frosty’s candy. That’s Frosty’s candy," my 2-year-old chanted at me, pointing out our neighbor's holiday decorations that we’ve walked by every day for almost two months.

Candy canes. Snowmen. My heart is aflutter with excitement.

Somewhere in a metropolitan setting, my friend and her new love are pursuing romance. She’s probably eating sushi and drinking more sake than she should. My ex-beau, a successful businessman, probably brought a blue box tiny enough to hide in his pocket.

My family, on the other hand, eats macaroni and cheese at least once a week. And it’s from a box, not the fancy stuff from the deli. For my birthday, my husband bought me a cookbook.

In his defense, I wanted the book. But it would have been nice if he had wrapped it.

As my friend's relationship blooms, I imagine they'll go dancing.

My 2-year-old recently figured out how to use the iPod. The other day, she was spinning around the kitchen wearing headphones singing, "Dedededede, Yeah!"

Oh, and she wasn't wearing any pants.

After sending my friend a heartfelt congratulatory note, which included pictures of my girls, she replied to thank me for being so cool. That's right — cool.

In the note, she gushed over the photographs of my daughters. Seeing beautiful little girls, she said, always gives her maternal pangs.

So apparently, the exciting start of a relationship is a means to an end, the end being my life.

New couples everywhere, with knots in their stomachs, want what I have.

Maybe I should send my friend a note, warning her.

No. After all, she's stolen my ex. She deserves what she gets.