You innocently asked me if we planned on having any more children. After nearly two years of trying I realize that I cannot “plan” to have another child; planning involves some confidence in my ability to produce the intended result. I cannot plan to have another child, I can only hope and try to have another child.
Right now I’m trying and failing.
My daughter’s third birthday is two months away. I always thought I wanted my kids about two years apart. Now we’re looking at closer to four years apart, if I get pregnant soon. One will be going into pre-school while I start the whole tired chaotic process all over again. If I can start the chaotic process all over again.
The questions never bothered me before. I’m a pretty open, honest person and don’t mind talking about my life or the details of it. But this is becoming different. Earlier this week, when I dreamed I was writing a blog post about my inability to conceive I realized that there is a lot more below the surface than I had been aware of. I’m afraid that talking will lead to the dam of emotions breaking.
I tell myself that it’s okay that I’m not getting pregnant right now because I still have 40lbs to loose. Or that it’s okay because I’m excited about my career moving forward. I tell myself that I’m lucky to have the one child that I do (who is currently singing, “happy birthday to you!” And trying to suction a hook to my shoulder); many women don’t have that.
But the longing is still there and it is growing, right along with my sense of powerlessness.
A few months ago a friend of mine got a new baby. We went through all of my daughter’s clothes and she took the ones she wanted. The rest I donated to our church’s garage sale. I needed to let go of the past. And, practically, if I get pregnant there’s a chance it won’t be a girl, which would mean those clothes were cluttering my storage space for no purpose. And it’s not like I don’t know a bunch of people who would give us hand me downs if we had a girl so it’s not like our kid would go unclothed. And if I don’t get pregnant, I don’t want them there to remind me every time I go into that room to do laundry.
It is easy to want what you don’t have, even when you’re grateful for what you do have.
I could find out I’m pregnant tomorrow, in which case I’d feel foolish for posting this today. But to the best of my knowledge I am not pregnant and it is heavy on my heart and I need to let myself feel so I am writing. And posting. And admitting I want another child and that it is out of my hands.