Little Soul

The house is quiet, the baby is finally asleep and I'm in the kitchen with my computer.  I made cupcakes for Sofia's school and I'm debating how bad it'll really be if I sample just one.  But I won't, because who am I kidding, I won't be able to stop at just one and then I'll be the lame mom who didn't bring treats on treats day.

Instead I'll finally try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in my head and do my best to talk myself off the ledge.

...........................

For some time now I've had this feeling.  A sense, a notion, an inkling.  At first I couldn't put my finger on it, but once I could, I tried to ignore it.  God knows I had a billion and one reasons to shove these feelings as far down as they would go and try to forget that I'd even noticed that change in my heart.  But as these things go, the more you try to ignore the feeling, the stronger it gets.

Sofia would be in her room playing by herself and I'd feel it; a small, fleeting sense of wistfulness.  I'd easily dismiss it and thank my lucky stars that she was occupying herself, and I'd run off to do a load of laundry or empty the dishwasher.  

I'm dealing with some particularly nasty family drama at the moment, and I've really been leaning on my brother to get through it.  We've been having some amazing phone conversations and I'm so thankful that I'm able to confide in him.  We've been in this together and the experiences that we've shared have served to bring us closer together in this really tough time.  And then I feel it:  I'm thankful to have my brother.  And then I get wistful again.

I think of Sofia and her life path and how I want her to have those conversations.  Of course, not about nasty family drama, but conversations that only siblings can have.  

I am finally admitting what has been tugging at my heart for several weeks now.

My name is Desiree and I want another baby.

Good Lord, that is the first time I've said that out loud.  Well, out loud in a sense.  You know what I mean.

Me.  Not only am I a member of the One and Done club, I'm the president.  Every single time anyone would ask me, the answer was always a loud and proud Hell no!  No more babies!  

I could rattle off all the reasons, in my sleep.  Without trying.  Without pausing for breath.  Without a shred of guilt.

I'm terrified of more miscarriages.  Just because they 'figured out' the problem doesn't mean another one won't crop up and I don't want to deal with loss again.  I mean, who does, but you know what I mean.  

I'm scared of stillbirth.  One of the lovely complications of my clotting disorders is stillbirth.  That means I get 40 weeks of fear, give or take.  Right up until the end I would stress about giving birth to a dead baby.  Because having a live baby doesn't take away that fear.  It's there, always.

I'm scared for my marriage.  If you have noticed that I haven't written about me and Drew fighting that much, it's because we're not fighting that much.  He's home just about every night, he's helping with the baby, we're finding our routine and things are really good.  And it just got that way - like an hour ago.  Why in the hell would I want to turn that upside down by getting pregnant again?  Never mind the fact that neither of us does pregnancy that well.  No, lemme scratch that.  We suck at pregnancy.  Straight up, I don't want to be pregnant.  At All.  I told Drew that I am not opposed to someone dropping a baby on my doorstep - just so I wouldn't have to be pregnant.  He was not amused.

It's the hormones.  Oh Martha, the hormones.  I HATE that out of control feeling.  I hate feeling like the calm rational me has been bound and gagged while the crazy me destroys everything the calm me has worked so hard to create.  And I HATE feeling like I have a choice in the matter, like I could choose not to cry that I forgot to put conditioner in my hair before I got out of the shower.  As if I could choose to ignore that I had to ask you three times to take the garbage out because the smell makes me want to die and I have a choice about biting your head off.  

Our marriage needs me to be calm and patient and rational and when I'm pregnant, it's just not possible and I hate that.  

Because Drew is the logical one and there is no logic in hormones.  Therefore, when I say I'm craving Olive Garden and he hates Olive Garden and says that there are other, closer, better Italian restaurants and therefore refuses to take me to Olive Garden, well, that's grounds for a screaming match the likes of which I Do Not want to sign up for again.  These things happen when I'm hormonal and when he accuses me of choosing to be a bitch and choosing to blame it on my hormones?  Oh that's a fight for the ages and the mere thought of going down that road again makes my uterus board up the entrance with a giant padlock and a sign that says 'NO ENTRY.'

Because we're not good pregnant.

Now birth?  We fucking ROCK at birth.  I would give birth 65 times over, as long as I don't have to be pregnant.  Why can't I be like those people who don't know they're pregnant until the baby is crowning?  Where's the sign up sheet for that?

Not to mention my daughter.  My precious, perfect, amazing beautiful daughter.  My firstborn.  My life.  She is the reason I breathe and I wasn't alive until she came.

What if I don't feel that way about the next one?  I know they say you do, but what if I'm the first recorded case of the mother who doesn't?  The guilt would end me.  And what if she feels like I love her less?  What if she and her brother or sister hate each other?  What if they go through family drama and they don't lean on each other?  Then what's it all for?

.......................


Yet, the feeling remains.  This Little Soul has pulled at my heart and I have this overwhelming sense that they're waiting for me.  This soul is waiting for me with a calm assurance, like they know I'm coming and they're content to wait for me to get there, because I will.  Get there, I mean.

I've talked to Drew at length about this.  I've made him swear to take me to Olive Garden without so much as an eyeroll or huffy sigh.  I've made him swear to help me off the sofa without making fun of me.  He swears that he will take a deep breath and remind himself that I'm not doing it on purpose when I'm being bitchy.  That he'll remind himself that I hate it more than he does.  He swears that he'll walk the dog, do the grocery shopping and cooking any time that I can't.  

Because I'm so scared.  I know what I'm in for this time.  I have no delusions about any bit of it and I'm scared.

Yet, I went to the doctor last Wednesday because I wanted to introduce myself with no pressure.  With my history of complications and as particular as I am about birth, I did NOT want my first appointment with a doctor to be when I was pregnant.  I had the luxury of seeing my last doctor for nearly ten years and she knew what was up.  This time around, we have to feel each other out and I needed to know that they knew I wasn't just going to sit back and take orders just because they've got the white coat.  Thankfully, my appointment went really well and she seemed very open to working together to have the most positive experience we can.  I will have my 'pre-conception consultation' with the Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist in the next couple of weeks to get a feel for how this will all go down, in this new city, with new doctors, in a new hospital.

Time is not on my side.  I will be 37 in three months and two weeks.  My cycles are still wonky because I'm nursing so I don't expect that this will be easy.  I don't know how long it's going to take and the older I get, the riskier the whole thing becomes - which adds another awesome layer to the scariness.

There is no logical reason to do this.  All evidence points to simply being thankful for what I have and not tempting fate.  But this Little Soul is waiting for me and I don't want to ignore the call anymore.  The wistfulness and the longing in my heart is not misplaced.  It's real and it's there and I know that if I were really meant to be One and Done, I wouldn't have this desire.

So I've prayed and prayed and prayed some more, because I can't do this alone.  I'm scared for my health, my marriage and my daughter and I'm not about to tackle those fears alone. But I'm beginning to feel the fire of strength.  It's only a little glow right now and it's only thinking about becoming a small flame but it's there.  I do know what I'm getting into, I know what I'm signing up for and I know I can make it through because I've already done it.

I hear you Little Soul.  I'm on my way.