I cried a lot yesterday. Where did it come from? It wasn't that really intense sobbing, just so many tears, the lump in the throat kind of crying. Then, I was in a terrible mood. But in a weird way, it was kind of cleansing. I feel okay today.
I want to have a baby. I want a child or two to raise to be good people. When I used to apply and interview for jobs in special education, I would often talk about one student in particular, and what was so satisfying was helping him navigate the world. Helping him to make connections himself. Watching him grow, incrementally, over the course of the year, knowing how much effort it took him. And me. It was exhausting, and frustrating, but in the end, it was extremely satisfying.
I just want to start from scratch. With one of my own. My therapist asked me what would happen if was sick again. Miserable physically, again. Well, I know now how to advocate for myself. I can begin with a doctor who is responsive and communicates and takes my concerns seriously. Who is educated in my high risk conditions.
Shortly before we lost the boys, I realized I would probably be puking the whole pregnancy. I resigned myself, but I knew it was worth it. I also started asking my doctor to step things up. Too little, too late.
I won't say I didn't have moments where I wondered what the hell I was doing. Or just wanted it all to be over so I could just feel better. I won't say I don't feel just the teeniest bit guilty. More than the teeniest bit.
I spent some time yesterday thinking about what our life might look like if we had no children. It would be okay, but all I could feel was this hole. I fully recognize that at this point, there is a very good chance that we won't get pregnant again. That we won't be able to have children. And really, we would be okay. We would just build our lives in a different way.
I think my bad mood yesterday had a lot to do with resentment toward the idea that I didn't want it, when I do want it.
I have said that I didn't know if I could survive if we lost another baby. To be honest, I don't know how I'd get through. And I don't want to do that to C. We are still working out the grief (both his and mine) from losing the boys. I'm afraid of getting sick again. I'm afraid of all the work, that I'll be a sad mom, that I'll make (the inevitable) mistakes. I'm afraid I'll want another one and that I'm too old. That my eggs will be too old.
And I don't want to be one of those women who focuses on the pregnancy and doesn't look at the implications of bringing a child into the world, and being responsible for that child. I worry that I can't do it. That we can't do it. That a baby will arrive and I'll think "oh my god I don't want this." I think that's where my questions come from. Is it worth all the aggravation and stress? Is the love enough? Is the joy enough?
C and I have a lot to talk about. A lot of work to do. Figuring out how we've changed, who we still are after the last year and a half.
Maybe six months will be enough time to figure some of this out.