About one week ago, my son pulled me to him from where he sat in his highchair and lifted up my shirt pressing a hand against my stomach. He paused and grinned at it and rubbed my belly and then said baby. He did it again that evening in front of my husband. Later on Skype with my parents. Baby, each and every time. Babies sometimes know these things my mother said with a raised eyebrow and a smile. I imagined the story I'd tell this child, how his/her brother knew they were coming before anyone else did, because he had a sense beyond all of ours borne of pure innocence that is part and parcel of babyhood.
And today I got my period. It's heavy like last month, heavier than I've ever had in my life and hurt more than I can bear. It's funny, I've lost a lot of weight, over twenty pounds so far, and its been difficult involving a lot of dieting and care, but the weight of infertility comes back on in an instant, fitting like an old glove.
Before my son the obstacle in pregnancy was simply ovulating. Once I ovulated pregnancy always followed. I ovulated three times. Each time I got pregnant. My cycles are normal again, I've ovulated three times now this year, and yet there is no pregnancy. I know these things take time but for me its all such a guessing game.
I hung out with a friend last night and she's pregnant with her second timing it to be two years after the birth of her first little girl. She said they wanted to space them this way as its easier according to studies. I wanted to tell her it must be nice to have that luxury to follow studies so faithfully, but how can I fault her for having it easier? How can I feel a tinge of bitterness when I have one, one I thought I wouldnt have.
In some ways its nice to feel this sting. It's good to remember how much I now have and how dark it was when I didn't. How while I nurse an empty womb, I am holding my son all the same.