If anyone still reads this, just a note that this is about kids and might be the type of post I found hurtful or painful when I was in the trenches of IF.
Once upon a time I wanted four children. By the time I convinced my husband five years into our marriage, I was content with the idea of three. And then infertility and loss hit me with their anvils and I wondered if I would even get one.
Despite my deepest fears, I have my baby boy. And I am happy. For the first time in a very long time I'm not 'happy considering' or 'happy to the world though my heart is breaking in a million pieces inside." I did not realize it, but the past 2.5 years I was a very depressed person. I look back on some of these posts and I scarcely understand who wrote them? That wasn't me? It was infertility and loss and they had taken over my body and had spread their tentacles over my soul.
And for this reason when I think of adding to the happiness. Doubling my joy. Trying for number two. I feel. . . overwhelmed. I want another child. So does my husband. Its important to us to have a sibling for W if we are lucky enough to conceive again. And this love for W- its like crack- and I'm an unabashed junkie now.
W is my miracle baby. Conceived after a miscarriage when I bucked doctor's order to wait a cycle and just tried before even getting my period- it worked- he's here. He came because my second miscarriage gave me a normal ovulation after five years of wonky ovulation. The first time. Its dumb luck I convinced K to ignore the doctor. Had we waited, I can't be sure if I'd even have a child today.
So the thought of counting cycle days. Having sex and then wondering what may happen. Of Clomid. Of ovary monitoring. Metformin. Lovenox injections. Ultrasound appointments. And the ever present, always present fear of a miscarriage- of something going wrong- I have tears in my eyes as I consider it all. The destination is beautiful- it is marigolds and roses and unicorns- but the journey is scarier than the path to Mordor.
And I want so badly to try again. And I'm scared so badly too. Scared to relinquish my joy for worry once more. Scared of the waiting. The wondering. I'm sorry to sound graphic but if I have one more fetus slip through my body onto a cold floor I don't know if I can handle it.
But I have to handle it. I have to get used to blanks on pregnancy tests again. The feeling of failure. And scary doctor visits. I have to if I want what I want. Its just scary to consider right now.
I dont know if anyone still reads this but if you have any advice I would appreciate it very much.