Once upon a time, I thought I’d made peace with my infertility.
Let me clarify…I never thought adopting Little Man would heal my infertility. The only aspect of infertility that Little Man “healed” (not even the right word!) is the desire to parent. I am now a mommy, and for that, and for him, and for HIM, I will forever be grateful.
But I thought I had come to grips with the fact that my body, albeit broken, was designed by a Creator just like He wanted it to be.
Yet I found myself this month holding my breath and secretly hoping I was pregnant.
Alas, I am not.
But I *so* wanted to be.
And I don’t know why.
I’ve never really wanted to be pregnant before. And after two friends have had horrible epidural experiences in the past month, I’m even more convinced (in my brain, at least) that I really don’t desire to give birth.
It yearns to experience pregnancy. As I rock my precious baby boy at night, I wonder how we will ever give him siblings…that wonderful experience of “family” beyond the three of us. How will we afford it? What if no one chooses us? Do I really want to go through that again? And I love being home, but wouldn’t I have to go back to work? What about foster care? Could we simply (and I don’t mean “simply” like – ah, that would be SO easy, but as opposed to the private adoption route) request foster-to-adopt only? What if we are blessed with an older child, and suddenly our oldest is our youngest?
Pregnant women – and women who have the capacity to become pregnant – don’t worry about this stuff (except, I know, the financial aspect).
But I am very sad today that I am not pregnant.
And I thought I would be past that after five years of IF…