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As far as we've discussed, Paul's reservations about trying to have a child through donor eggs have to do with the fact that I kind of suck at pregnancy.  It's a legitimate position, I suppose; if I were to develop HELLP again, at best we would face a frightening birth, and at worst he'd have to marry that hatchet-faced spinster lady down the track because we all know a grief-stricken widower with a runny-nosed bairn still in clouts needs a good Christian woman t'do for 'im.

It's a tough point to argue.  I do kind of suck at pregnancy.  So far the best I've managed to come up with is a weak protest: "Well, you were willing to try with my eggs..."  Paul's answer, spoken in the mildest of tones: "Actually, not all that willing."

It is hard to be persuasive when I can't easily articulate why I want another pregnancy so badly, when it doesn't make intellectual sense even to me.  I haven't found a way to say it without sounding like the spoiled and thwarted child I'm often sure I am: I just do.

I've been working on it.  Now, I get a lot of mail about this site.  True, a fair amount of it pertains to the size of my penis, a sensitive subject for me, and much of it says things like, "Raunchy Brunette OLDERMOM in Glasses," which cuts a little too close to the bone for my comfort.  But often it's good, and sometimes it's really good.  Sometimes readers tell me, "You've managed to describe exactly what I feel."

I am asking you, please, to do that for me.

Nablogrumo_1 I've been quiet over the past several weeks.  I've been finding I don't have much to say.  Wait, that's not exactly true: I have a lot to say, but since it consists almost entirely of long animal grunts of pain, I've decided not to bore the Internet with it.  Who really wants to read sixty daily posts in a row that say, "UNGGGGGGGGGGGGH"?

It's hard to find words these days, not only to describe what I'm going through now, but to frame my hopes for the future.  I need help.  It's not that I need to justify my desire; no one else could do that for me even if I felt it necessary.  It's that I feel so uncharacteristically tongue-tied and wish, if I can, to be rescued.

Tell me: Why do you want what you want?  The things you want and your reasons for that will, of course, differ from mine.  But I'm hoping that as you tell your stories, I'll have that same moment some of you have described to me, where I think, "That's exactly right." 

It's happened before, and I hope it can happen again.  Because unless I can describe it, I can't really deal with it.  I can't see the edges of what I'm up against.  I can't either talk myself out of it or, somehow, talk Paul into it.  Help me.  Either I or Paul's second wife will be grateful.