I have to admit something I never thought I would. I know I can here and virtually nobody from my everyday life will see it. I'm sad. Very, very sad.
Maybe it is the way Zach curls up around my ribcage, warm and secure, after he is finished nursing. Maybe it is the way he seems to only be comforted by me--John can pick him up when he cries, and he will not be consoled. We will think he is hungry or wet, but neither will be the case. Then I take him. Suddenly all is right in his world and he drifts off to sleep, dreaming of whatever 2-week-old babies dream that brings forth those sweet toothless smiles. Whatever the cause, my head and heart are a hodge-podge of mixed emotions, swirling around together until I can no longer keep them distinct.
My due date was June 11. And I cannot help but to think, when I look at this amazingly beautiful child, that he should, by all rights, still exist within me. I should still be pregnant. That he is so content with me because it is where he still belongs. And that is what is making me sad. I see other pregnant women and actually feel jealousy. On this blog, that is no big deal. Yet I spent months and months, enduring agonizing contractions, and griped of how I wanted my doctors to just end the pregnancy as soon as possible. They did right by me and Zach both. They kept him in there until he was ready. They made sure he was ready. Then they safely ended my misery. That's what I wanted, right? Yet I find myself in a sort of mourning for the pregnancy that should still be.
Nobody wants me to have anymore children. If you have read the other blog, you know how things went with Zachary. Well, Evan was the same way. I did that not once, but twice. John and I have talked and talked about permanent family planning, and we were sure. I called and researched vasectomies and non-surgical tubal procedures. We knew we couldn't do it right away because of the financial implications of being on bedrest for so long. The plan was to use the most reliable form of birth control possible until we were ready to handle the financial obligation of such a permanent procedure. But then something happened.
While doing my c-section, the doctor exclaimed with amazement that my uterus is beautiful. Ha! Good to know. We expected it to be thinned and worn and scarred from the nightmarish pregnancies I have endured. But for whatever reason, most likely because I gave it 9 years to heal before doing this again, it isn't. So John remarked that he would like to try to have the daughter we have not had here in a couple of years.
What?! Huh? Seriously?
I should be aghast. I should be disgusted. And when I had to report to my doctor for a large knot in my lower belly just last week, I mentioned the idea.
He shook his head. He said to tell John that they (meaning the high-risk OB practice) get a vote, too. They do not want me to do it again.
But secretly, in the pit of my heart, I want to. I'm not sure if it is because both of the outcomes of my pregnancies (my 2 boys) have been so wonderful, or because I don't want this stage of my life to be over. Or maybe it is just me, hoping that one day I could actually have a positive pregnancy experience as opposed to the nighmares I endure. I am thinking it has more to do with the idea of never having a newborn again. Because if I could just skip over the pregnancy part and get the baby, I would.
So here in 2 years, John and I are going to try again. And we are not going to tell anyone that the pregnancy that may result was intentional. I have 2 years to get myself ready. To stop all bad habits and replace them with the good. To lose my extra weight. To take lots of folic acid. To prepare my family for another lengthy bedrest, if needed. To save money. Basically, to give any other pregnancy the best shot and do all of the things one should do when they actually have the luxury of planning. Zachary was a surprise, but this one will not be. Mayb e it is foolish of me, but I am hoping that will make the difference.
There! I admitted it. And I feel better--unburdened in a way. And more than a little bit foolish. But I cannot help the way I feel. It doesn't help to know that there are people out there who would flip out if they read this. But if I am the one who has to tolerate the brunt of the misery, and I am still willing, shouldn't that be all that matters? It is not like John and I produce these horribly sick children. Both of them are amazing, so one would assume the third child would be as well. So this is or secret plan. Shhhhh! Don't tell!