To follow up my entry on "Sinkholes," and maybe blog oftener, I'm going to try to write a bunch of short(er) posts about various things on my mind, many of which will be fertility related (but not necessarily all). It's hard sometimes to break my thoughts into smaller topics, because one thought leads to another to another in my mind. But I'll try!
Today....Thinking more about a one child family.
What would it be like to stop the trying to conceive business? In my entry called "Release," I talked about an experience where I felt happy to be a one child family. That was a lovely afternoon. I was profoundly content that day! It also wasn't the whole picture.
It is still upsetting to have a seemingly normal 27 day cycle where we do everything right and don't get pregnant. It sucks to gamble and lose. It hurts to see pregnant bellies and new infant siblings at AJ's daycare and dance class and know that we are (seemingly!) one lucky cycle away from that being our reality, but still, oh, so far. The other day at Easter dinner my mom and stepmother in law started talking about why they decided to have more than one child. Tender confidences about not wanting the eldest to "grow up alone." Or acting on a partially understood maternal instinct. Or seeing the child's father grow in confidence and reaching an understanding that it would be OK to have more. All so sweet in hindsight. So sweet to have a bloody choice about it, at all. (I didn't say anything.)
I almost always refuse to let myself visualize AJ as an older sibling, or to picture how we might arrange our lives around two, because it feels too painful to dwell on a possibility that stays on the outside of reality. People cope with infertility in different ways; avoidance is one of mine. I squirm when other people "go there," no matter how innocently. That's protected emotional space. Back away!
On the other hand, I have become aware of a few things that could help me be at peace as a one child family. I'm not sentimental about babies. Maybe infertility has given me a cold dead heart, but I have no particular attraction to other people's babies. I'm jealous that they have the choice to have a baby, not of the actual baby so much. I loved AJ as a baby, but I don't miss her as a baby. I love the person she is and is becoming. It is awesome to be a mother to a toddler and to contemplate all the possibilities that await. We have a family vacation to the ocean planned for the summer! Squee! And the thousands of dollars we could spend on treatments: How about taking a bigger AJ to Europe and Greece next year instead? That won't happen if I'm pregnant or parenting a young baby, but it likely can happen if I'm not.
The bottom line is, it is still painful to contemplate not trying any longer, or trying with such a reduced level of hope and intention that it amounts to not trying. (I'm not sure where that boundary is, for me.) Along with the pain I also have some awareness of the benefits of one child, even if that is not truly our choice. Day to day, I find I can't only focus on the painful part or the peaceful part. I have to try to accept them both at once. It's weird. But this is our current reality, and my family means enough to me that I must have the courage to embrace all the feelings at once.