I want another baby. Not right this minute. But I do.
I should preface this by saying that little E is the light of my life; there is not a minute that goes by that I am not insanely grateful to be his mama. Even when he's screaming after a 20 minute nap or spitting carrots in my face (of course, he lurved the carrots the last half dozen times I've given them to him, but whatever) or snubbing my breast like it was a flaming pile of poo, I am grateful through my frustration. Who could ever believe that I could have had a part in making this strong-willed little cheeky monkey? I find myself wondering, "what would the next one look like? Act like?" But right now, our hands are so full and our brains are so tired, it's just not something we would even think about before Ethan can at least sleep through the night (that alone might take me all the way to menopause, I am well aware).
And I realize how lucky I am to even have Ethan. So many women with IC lose their babies before they even know there is danger. And some women are cursed by the universe never to even know the joy of the two pink lines on a pregnancy test and the feeling of a baby moving inside them. I am the luckiest woman alive. I know that.
But I want more. And I can't have that. Husband and I don't get the giddy joy of sitting down to say, "When you want to start trying again?" and the anticipation of trying. Again, I realize for some that anticipation is agony because it always leads to disappointment. I, on the other hand, am cursed with the knowledge that I am Fertile Myrtle and could probably say, "I want a November baby!" and get one. I am very sad when I think that I will never feel another baby dancing a jig on my bladder, or trying to burrow his way out of me through my back or my ribs.
I suppose I shouldn't have titled this "confessions from an IC Mama" because if it were just the IC, perhaps we'd take the leap and see what the next time would bring. Worse case scenario for IC for us would be a scheduled cerclage and complete bedrest. Honestly, bedrest was harder on Husband than it was on me. Especially now, I relish the idea of lounging all day and snuggling with Ethan. It's almost what I do each day anyway, right? But the idea of asking Husband to go through all that again, especially if there's hospital time---eh, that's just not right.
But it isn't just the IC. It's the gestational diabetes that gets worse with each pregnancy and makes Type II diabetes more likely in the future and for the rest of my life. It is the uterus with the integrity of tissue paper that would necessitate a super early c-section delivery and make NICU time an inevitability. It is, joyfully heaped onto these already compelling reasons to make an appointment for a tubal ligation, the fact that any pregnancy from here on in would get slapped with the label, "high risk due to advanced maternal age." That's the obstetrical world's way of saying, "Hey, you too old to be havin' babies, lady." And with my elderly ovaries blasting out eggs who knows what I'd get. Ugh.
There are just too many reasons for us not to even think about conceiving again. There are NO good reasons for us to even have a discussion about it. But there is something about knowing I'll never carry and give birth to another baby that makes my heart ache. Hopefully that ache will fade with time.
Until then, I have this to enjoy, so that really puts it all in perspective in so many ways, right? :