Avoiding the "Water"

Have you ever heard the phrase "there's something in the water?"  Sure you have.  You know what it means.  Pregnant women...everywhere.  That's how I feel.  In the last 2 months I've seen, heard, or witnessed so many announcements.

Disclaimer:  If you are currently pregnant and reading this, I am not unhappy for you.  I have nothing against you and I wish nothing but the best - a healthy, happy, uneventful full 9 months!  Read further if, and only if, you can read this with an open mind and try to understand the conflictions of my own heart.  This is not personally directed at anyone.

Back to the water.  I am NOT drinking it.  I have all the necessary protective measures in place.  I know my limits.  I need time.  Time to heal mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  I need time with Ryan, to rekindle the romance, learn new things about each other, and secure the foundation we want for Emma's childhood.  I need time with Emma, to watch her grow, to nurture her, to enjoy this new happiness and life that has been given to me.  I need time to myself, to find balance between my grief and my healing, to find security in this new type of motherhood - to a living child, to find remnants of the girl I used to be and set myself up for the woman I want to be and need to be for my daughter.  To say we are not ready to think about or talk about having another child is an understatement.  It took us two long years, nurmerous doctor visits, several fights and miscommunications, stress on our sex life, the burden of grieving, and alot of physical and medical procedures to get us our baby girl - alive and healthy.  We need a break.  We need to breathe, live, love the people and things that we have now.

This does not lessen the sting.  This does not mask the ache.

The truth is, I may not be ready -- I may never be ready -- we may decided to be "one and done" leaving Emma to be an only (much loved) child, but this does not mean that we never wanted more children.  With each new pregnancy announcement comes the reminder that a dream we once had may never come to be.  With every new baby shower, gender reveal, or birth announcement comes a new heightened loss in my life:  the loss of innocence, the loss of endless hope, the loss of the ability to make a decision based on desire and dreams alone.

The facts:  My body has failed me.  Not once, but twice.  With medical intervention, a supportive medical team, a loving & caring husband, supportive family and friends, we were able to get Emma here safe, sound, and healthy at 36 weeks - 1 week shy of full term.  That in itself was a huge WIN.  My body still failed me though.  My goal was 37 weeks.  Had it not been for medicine and bed rest I would have gone into labor early.  I had been contracting (experiencing pre-term labor) for 6 weeks prior to having her.  This is not normal.  Will this happen again?  Could we risk my health or the health of another baby?  I made it 5 weeks further than I did with Logan before the contractions started.  Thank the heavens my cervix held.  What is wrong with my body?  We may never know.  Can I handle another high risk pregnancy?  Will my already failing body make it throug another pregnancy as age creeps in on me?  Will I be able to be a full time, active parent to Em and a loving active wife to Ryan while nurturing another child in my womb?  It's all unknown.  Does the {{potential and hopeful}} outcome outweigh the risks, the fears, the intensity?

I will never have a "normal" pregnancy.  I will question every twinge.  I will listen for a heartbeat 2 and 3 times a day.  I will have to have another cerclage surgery, more p17 shots, and another c-section.  Three c-sections.  Will my body respond well to recovery?

I miss being able to dream, hope, and plan for our future family.  I wish I could look into Emma's eyes and promise her a living sibling.  Living.  That's the key.  I wish I could look my husband in the eyes and promise him the opportunity to father two children, possibly another boy to carry on his name.  I can't.  This is the hand I was dealt....the hand we were dealt.  We play with the cards we have.

I grieve the loss of my opportunity.  I grieve the loss of my teenage dreams.  I grieve the loss of innocence. 

People ask all the time "When will you try for number 2?"

That question stings more than the anouncements. 

I will think on these things another day, another time.  They are released into the universe for now.  We are a happy family.  We are taking it one day at a time.  I have accepted that my heart will always hurt.  A hurting heart can still experience happiness and joy.  It only hurts because I loved, hoped, and dreamed so deeply.  I hope to pass that on to my daughter.  I hope she sees the happiness.  I hope she sees the love.  I hope she sees reality of joy and pain, side by side, hand in hand, making life's experiences deeper and more alive.

And if...if she never gets a younger sibling, I hope we will raise her in such a way that her life and her heart are so full and rich from being so loved that she never feels like somehow she missed out.