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05/18/2007
Worth it
I never had this feeling before Charlie, the temptation to just...stop. Before we had him, I knew I would continue, that I'd be willing to do whatever was necessary — multiple IVF cycles, adoption, egg donation, perhaps even the odd spot of grave robbing — to have a child. Success at any cost, because, hey, I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty; I'm not above a little unholy reanimation here and there.
But the longer we wait, the more seductive it seems to have only (only!) Charlie. I say this to people and they nod knowingly, saying, "Yeah, once you're finished with diapers" — we're not — "it's hard to want to go back." It's not that, although I throw a small private party in my mind every time Charlie urinates into a plastic receptacle, then insists on clumsily carrying it over to the toilet himself, the longest two-foot walk any housewife with a newly cleaned bathroom ever endured. (At this small private party in my mind, there are gleaming cut glass candy dishes of bridge mix — chocolate-covered cashews, almonds, and Valium — on every end table. To say nothing of the single malt. And the hookers.)
It's not that I'm eager for any particular phase of child-rearing to end. It's not the knowledge that if Charlie is our only child, we get to leave behind the inconveniences of babyhood once and for all. It's leaving behind the inconvenience of achieving babyhood. Every one of the choices available to us is inconvenient in some way, more so even than IVF was. And how alluring to think about never being inconvenienced that way — money, drugs, time, loss, fear, or anguish — again.
Sometimes, and quite often lately, I catch myself thinking, It sure is easy not to have another. Easiest thing in the world for infertiles. How easy it would be to just...do nothing. To succumb to the insidious idea I have on these days when I'm feeling deflated, that it might just not be worth it.
And then Charlie does something enchanting — "I will sit on the potty and wait for the pee to come. [Pause.] Peeeeeee! Are you coming? Yes, you are! Dere you are." — and that is when I realize what a disgusting self-indulgent jackhole I can be. Because, good God, not worth it? Not worth some inconvenience? And then I have to go and slam my hand in the drawer of the bathroom vanity seven or eight times, breaking every finger in my body in an agitated fit of penance. Which makes it awfully hard to pick out the chocolate-covered Valium from between those shitty brazil nuts.
In the past, I've told my infertile friends inside the computer that what we go through is worth it. But I've known even as I've said it that I believe it because I can, because for Paul and me it all paid off, because of Charlie. I am never truly sure. Would I think it had been worth it without him?
I'm in a different place now. I no longer feel the same degree of commitment. I can imagine calling a halt to it, stopping somewhere short of our goal, when I couldn't before. Just not yet.
I know better now what we're in for, in both good ways and bad. I know how well the trying can end, and while I've tasted only a few of the myriad awful ways it can all go horribly awry, that's been enough to make me respectfully cautious.
And I know something I didn't before there was Charlie, before I knew what loving him would be like: Even if we do fail in nerve or luck, I will still think the trying was worth it.
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It's nice to hear you maybe starting to come to some kind of peace with things.
It's also nice to hear that other families talk to their toddlers' bodily waste.
Worth it for sure. Your posts are always so touching and beautifully written (except when they're funny, in which case they're, uh, funny and incisively written). Thank you for writing.
The "Charlie encouraging the process of urination" story nearly made my heart wrench itself free of my thoracic cavity.
It is all - all of it - worth it. This is the type of thing which encompasses the furthest extremes of the human experience... baby or non, it is flexing the muscle which is YOU, seeing what it's capable of. Putting it through the paces of anguish and joy. Enduring the worst is one of the things we're more capable of than we can possibly know. Ideally - and boy howdy, do I fervently hope for this - everyone would make it to the other side with an immediately tangible reward (and the spit-up stained shirts to match). But (and feel free to bitch-slap me, Internets)... even in the absence of that, the self-reflection, tenacity, determination and sheer depth of feeling one endures during the process... they're worth it. They're YOU.
Sometimes I think that one of the greatest burdens we have placed upon our generation is the arrogance cocktail that we chase with a slice of extensive analysis and some oh so salty guilt. You know what I mean. Growing up in the decadance of the eighties led us to believe that we would each choose the education, career, partner, quantity and spacing of children, etc. that we desired and the fact of the dream would follow. Obviously, reality is nothing of the sort and we search our childhood histories for explanations of what went wrong. We endlessly question our options, our motivations, our desires. We wade through the guilt over not being smart enough, willful enough, careful enough, attractive enough, good enough to have made everything turn out the way we planned so long ago...
I'm the same age you are. I'm a very confident individual who has rarely felt bound by others' expectations and yet I have experienced plenty of my own doubts. I believe that I have reached a point in my life where I'm beginning to truly accept the gray areas amongst all of the black and white of the morality with which I long believed I had been raised. I am beginning to understand that not only are some decisions deliberate while others arise from lack of action, but that maybe that's okay. I've always needed to have a plan, to know with absolute certainty what's next, but I'm coming to terms with the fact that there is more than one right answer and there is perhaps something greater than anything I might plan. And that whichever way it turns out, I will be living a stupendously wonderful life.
And yesterday, my three-year-old pooped in her plastic potty and then remarked, "Look, my poop made a letter so that I can learn to spell." It was an "A" and it retained its shape when I dumped it in the big toilet which we both found delightful.
You have no idea how badly I needed that. On the cusp of yet another IVF, and having a husband struggling with the commitment to adoption, I needed someone to remind me that it's worth it. It's worth every stick, every idiotic doctor, every penny, even worth the pain of a previous loss, or the fear of any future ones. Thank you...as usual, your wisdom is as perfectly timely as it could be.
I worry my life won't be stupendously wonderful. My arbitrary deadline (when I turn 42) of stopping fertility treatment is rapidly approaching. I agree with Julie that there is some tempting peace in acknowledging and accepting the option of just stopping all this nonesense. I do greatly fear the emptiness that will accompany that fateful day, and until that day happens, I will continue to fight tooth and nail to achieve motherhood and all the wonders that Julie (and others, of course) raves about.
Yes, yes, yes. It is all worth it. I'm about to start my second IVF try for baby #2. And if it doesn't work, that's it. I really am at peace with that decision. Partly because of the pain-in-the-ass, exorbitant-cost and emotional-rollercoaster factors, and partly because this time the stakes are so much lower. Once you finally have one child after infertility, it's like a hole in your life and heart has been filled. A second child becomes almost like tempting fate, and being so lucky as to have one would be like icing on an already fantastic cake.
Amen.
When people say "well your son was worth it" I say "of course he's worth it!" But my sanity is also worth something - feeling good about our family size is worth something, not worrying about the health of a baby-to-be and not worrying about the money (IVF - pregnancy care, etc.) - is worth something too. A big part of me just wants to be able to get on with our lives. We'll try another roll of the dice for this year... then I will be happy in retirement.
We first went into ART with the thought of "well, our luck we'll end up with a small litter, so doing this once is just fine." And we didn't. After finally being successful, we were successful with just one healthy baby.
Who now is going through a phase where he cries every.single.night from 6pm until bedtime.
Excuse me while I dig through your candy dish.
But seriously, I still think it's worth it. I love him more than anything, and while I don't want to shut the door on my shitty uterus indefinitely, I think he just may be it. For one, infancy is not my forte. I rock, I console, I cuddle, and I try as hard as I can to relish these times. I DO relish these times. Yet, I still long for the days where my kid asks where his pee is and when it's coming. I think of going through the early times, and as much as I love the smell of his head and the increasing wrist chub, the thought of going through it again makes me want to shoot myself in the face.
And maybe that's because I'm in the thick of it, but I don't know that I would ever be so lucky as to get another child as perfect as he is. I would be so greedy to ask for another one, because even with the ups, I'd still take the downs with it.
It does feel truly good when you stop hitting yourself with a hammer (or IVF needles.) If this is what gives you peace of mind then I hope you embrace it with all your might. You deserve some peace of mind.
I think our boys would get along quite nicely.
Good luck with getting things figured out.
It's worth it, yes.
But it's also a blessing, to have that NEED gentled, to begin to see that the path ahead might encompass peace and acceptance.
If I was the praying type, mine would be
"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference."
I will struggle as long as it feels right. But I wish I knew I'd be able to stop, when the time came.
Imagining a world where we have just one child, is maybe beginning to accept the possibility.
a beautiful post.
I guess I disagree with the commenters above. I do not think that risking ones life to have a baby, or adopting when one is so unsure, is worth it. Whats worth it is taking brave steps to assure the best quality of life for family members that are here, now. I have always loved the quote, "we are stronger, when we are giving up". Whatever you choose, none of your readers will ever wonder if you did not think the road to motherhood was worth it. Good Luck.
As always, your post was beautiful, insightful, and hysterical. (Dere it is!)
I hope you find peace and contentment, whatever you choose.
We chose to have one child and that's what we did. There are pro's and con's to having an only. I picked up a book once that was written by an only-child and he said something that made sense to me. Well, actually it said several things. One was that people tend to see selfishness in only-children when they overlook identical behavior in kids with sibs - and this goes on into adulthood. But another thing he said was that negative experiences like spoiling and over-sheltering are more likely in only children whose sibs had died, or who were born to parents who wanted more and couldn't have them. So if you decide to stop, you should probably embrace Charlie's only status, maximize the benefits, acknowledge the negatives and deal with them. For instance, to teach my daughter not to have a sense of entitlement, I made her not only not help herself to my birthday or Mother's Day candy, but I didn't even allow her to ask for any - I made her wait until I offered (and I always did.)
As usual, you have been able to boil down a ton of emotions into a clear nugget of satisfying truth. I have had these emotions going crazy in me and I haven't been able to step back and look at them objectively until now. My husband and I have the twins, and we have two embryos frozen, and for a million reasons I'm going crazy with the desire to thaw them out and give them a go. I have finally convinced my husband that we should do a FET , and now what? What if it doesn't work? What if neither survives the thaw? (bloody likely) What if it works too well? (not bloody likely, but possible) I already have two, for crying out loud, have I been smoking crack? But, I want to be pregnant again, to have another, so help me. At least your post has helped me (yet again) in a time of emotional need. I have two wonderful children, if this doesn't work, I won't automatically be thrown onto a roller coaster of craziness. I have them! (which of course means I'm already on a roller coaster of craziness) Thank You!
Of course your child is worth anything you had to go through to bring him into this world. That does not mean you cannot every become tired, disillusioned,cranky,angry,scared, over-whelmed, need a break. It does not mean you cant want, wish or long for a few minutes of adult"before kids" life. Yes you can complain. You are human you have needs and wants and emotions that don't define you as "ungrateful" because you occasionally feel them. Don't be so hard on yourself (and remember that when you are tempted to judge someone else's same feelings) Vent, complain, cry, get angry! You paid a HUGE price you deserve it! That "worth it" feeling is something that is rarely felt until you HAVE what you worked for. Yes you have Charlie but you do not HAVE another baby ...so that potential baby is not "worth it" just yet.
God, I needed this post today. Been going over and over this decision in my own mind. Have my own mini-miracle, toddling about the house now. I'm 38, took 10 years to get to this point, and now wonder if we should stop while we're ahead, or plod into the unknown again.
For us, it's not so much the effort it takes to get pregnant (although, that's definitely a factor!), but what pregnancy does to my body. I had 9 months of constant pain that I wasn't allowed to take drugs for. It sucked. Hard. At the time, it felt worth it. Not sure it would be worth putting my little one thru 9 months essentially without a mother. Or, with a mother who is so evil he calls an exorcist. But i have moments like you, where he does something so damn adorable I feel obligated to make 10 more like him so the world can be filled with the cutest damn kid ever created. How can it not be worth it?
I think, for us, we are in the place where we KNOW we are happy now. This life, with this little person, is as close to perfect I think you can achieve on earth. Trying to make another one is an uncertain future. Of course, we'd love the child (if there was one!). But, what would the LIFE be like? It could be awful, with the health problems I mentioned. So, we've decided to settle for perfection. At least for now.
I hope you can come to peace with a decision, one way or another. For us, the decision is made only as long as we want it to be- in other words, we've decided to stop today. But tomorrow, next week, next year (when I'm, ugh, 39) may be a different decision. There's so much pressure to try right away when you don't know if it will really work. And I think that's when you sort of have to accept that the family you are meant to have will happen, one way or another.
Hey! I like brazil nuts!
Of course, the endearing moments don't end with babyhood, or toddlerhood. With every new phase, I've thought wow! this is actually so much better now that she can ________. My daughter is almost nine now (yes, I've been trying - on and off -for that long.) We completely stopped trying, partly because we had established such a nice three-person family that we were truly happy and fulfilled. And our daughter never begged us for a sibling, which made it easier. But recently we were talking about giving it one last try, and she said she thought it was a good idea - actually, she said it would be nice to have a baby around the house, apparently not remembering her own long hours of jagged colicky crying...So, we're hauling that old hope out of mothballs, and who knows what will happen?
Things change, and once your child is doing older-kid things, babyness may not have the appeal it once did. I just don't melt over infants anymore, because my parenting life is about other things, now. Of course, I'm trying to remain calmish about the whole thing because I've been disappointed so many times...
Anyway, now that I am trying again, I so appreciate reading your blog. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
You didn't ask, but if I were in your shoes and knowing what I think know about your circumstances, I would do one more IVF at Cornell. One last try. If it doesn' work, then I would move on with Julie grace and dignity to other endeavors. Your heart clearly is not in adoption or donor egg, and yet you are not done yet. One more try, I say.
It is completely different once there's a child, once you're a parent. Going from none to one, there's a clear, drastic desperation, when you can almost understand just picking up a baby out of a stroller while the mother is busy whacking her toddler with her shoe. Wanting more is more of a quiet ache - in some ways harder because you can't just focus on yourself like crazy anymore, easier because if the second attempt fails, you don't fall all the way back down, because you're still a parent.
I'm at the point where I'm seriously considering doing this again - the kid's old enough that we could maybe manage if I'm put on bedrest again, or suffer another bout of hyperemesis. Because I am feeling a lack - it's not as horrible as being childless, but being childrenless when you don't want to be also sucks.
and you think it was inconvenient when you did not have a child...try juggling it all as a mother of one. Still so worth it, Hate hate to say it but more worth, second is so much more fun than the first because I was not such a nervous freak of a new mom and could enjoy it more.
The trouble with IVF is that one can (financial and medical constraints aside) more or less just choose to give it a go. and another. and another. the chance of having a baby is almost never zero, so it can be terribly hard to turn one's back on it and just say no.
We have a wonderful, nearly-2, hard-earned (not as hard-earned as charlie, but hard enough) toddler, who has brought an almost unbearable amount of love and joy to our lives. I loved being pregnant, and would nearly sell my soul to have that feeling again. I'd decided after IVF finally worked, that we'd take a crack at the leftover frozen people, but not do the whole hoopla over again. Well, the frozen ones didn't take, and lo, there was trampy old IVF, beckoning seductively from the shadows, lipstick-stained cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I'm nearly 44, and we all know what THOSE odds are like, but heck, repro man didn't say no, so we planned a final cycle in mid-may. But a medical problem has reared its head, and ivf is not presently an option. I thought i'd be frantic, but I find I'm strangely relieved. It's much easier this way. In fact, I think it may be a sign that I am (almost) at peace with the idea of not having another child. We'd love another for sure. I'd actually like one just to show up on the doorstep - now THAT would be easy. We've talked about adoption, and like the idea of giving something back (?to the cosmic baby pool - i don't know), and helping somehow, but i confess I'm afraid of and kind of angry at the assessment process. What if we didn't get picked? how painful that would be. At least ivf isn't judgemental. Or so i tell myself.
My one and only child is about to graduate from high school. He says he's happy being the only one ("More stuff for me!") and I believe him.
was an only child in the days when adults, including teachers, would accuse me of being spoiled because of my lack of sibs. Was I spoiled? In some ways, yes. Never having had sibligs, I didn't miss them.
I see how my husband struggles with his relationships with his brothers and I thank my lucky stars, as well as my Captain Crunch, that I'm an only.
In the horrible five years of infertility before my son was born, I would have done anything to have a baby. I couldn't stand to see other women with babies, hated going to baby showers. It was an overwhelming feeling of despair mixed with fury.
As soon as my son was born safe and healthy, the desperate need to reproduce vanished, never to reappear.
I loved every minute (just about) of my son's babyhood and childhood but I felt no need to duplicate it.
My husband feels the same way. At 50, we are congratulating ourseles on raising an extraordinary young man and looking forward, some day, to grandchildren.
There's no law that says every couple must have 2.2 children.
Just lovely, as usual....and I melted at the "dere you are!"...talking to your pee is so cute at 2 1/2...and kinda creepy at 42 1/2, which I why I prefer working with kids to the psych patients I used to. ;-D
We were thinking that once we finally had the first one, we would jump back in and go for it again so that they would (hopefully) be kind of close together. Now that the first one is 8 months and my period hasn't even come back yet (figures), I'm starting to have second thoughts. I keep thinking about going through all of it again, about the years of disappointment before we got the first one and about how we won't be able to pay as much attention to her once the second is born.
Our initial plan is starting to go out the window and I'm suddenly not sure what the second plan will be. Thanks for your post.
Every day I look at my Goober and think what a miracle he is. Not because I had difficulty getting pregnant with him, but because I know he is my last. After he was born, I had a few surgeries that rendered me unable to have any more. I tell myself that I'm so lucky to have him, and to have my two step-children.
But that doesn't stop me from crying every now and again because I really, really, really, really wanted to have another.
It's hard. There's no way around it. But eventually things become clear. It just takes time and a whole lot of posts just like that one. You're on your way and you are doing beautifully.
This is so beautifully written. I think that when you were going through everything that first time around, the "whatever cost" only affected you and Paul. And now, this time around, that "whatever cost" also affects Charlie. It makes the decisions hard. It sometimes makes the decisions feel impossible. I wouldn't trade the having-to-take-them-into-the-equation vs. the making-decisions-that-only-affect-us for anything. But it's a complication that few think about during that first time around. Sending good thoughts to you.
As an adoptive mother, who went thru 5 failed IVF cycles, I can say it was worth it. Do I wish I would have gotten pregnant? Of course! But at the same time this proccess from hell has taught me a lot about myself, my partner and what family means. If I had the option of a successful IVF or an adoption, at this point of my life, I would choose adoption. I love my body and hate putting it thru torture. I love my husband and hate the stress and the hormones that made us argue. I love my career and hated not enjoying it, when the only thing that mattered was a biological child. So, was it worth it? Yes, it was worth it and it was worth giving it up too! I have my daughter And i get to eat cake with her too! life is good
Wooo! Hookers!
And what Jul said. I'm glad you're finding peace, little lady.
Life changes and things evolve. Feeling like you are content is not worth feeling like you have to punnish yourself or thinking you are selfish for not wanting to go through something painful and draining. Cut yourself some slack. You've been through a hell of a lot. Sending good vibes.
Very eloquent, as per usual, Julie. We had planned on more IVFs in our future after we finally had our daughter. However, now that she's been diagnosed with Autism, the money we'd saved for those IVFs is now going into her early-intervention therapies (which health insurance doesn't cover, since they're "behavioural" and not "medical", nor do our schools EI provide adequate services). We decided that it's best for our family to help the child we DO have to have her best life possible. There's nothing wrong with changing your mind and deciding upon something different than what you'd originally planned. It's all worth it.
Wow--it's like you crawled inside my mind (and heart) and just read what was written there! The "should we put ourselves through it again?" party room in my mind is a place I go to daily to torture myself. And then, sometimes, I imagine the peace that might come from just shutting that door and locking it behind me. Maybe one child is enough?
It never happened for me. Then my husband lost his job and we went on infertility hiatus...and despite my longing for a baby, we never started again, just couldn't face it.
I'm now 54 with a wonderful stepson. I still feel the pain of infertility, there will always be an empty place and a longing...but I have a wonderful life and I have filled some of that space with my stepson and a host of other children.
One of the issues of infertility is that for most of us there is no clear end. There is always one more thing that can be done, one more choice.
Julie, whatever is right for you I wish you peace with that decision.
I have wondered if it's worth it before, and I have not yet achieved pregnancy. Whenever we take a break from trying (usually to pay down the medical bills), those thoughts become stronger and stronger. When we start trying again, I think I turn them off because I feel I need to be committed to what I'm doing. In the end, even if we have the sadness of childlessness (sad for us, not for everyone), I know my husband and I will be happy with each other. That keeps me going through the hard times.
Well said!So very poignant. BTW, could you send some of those chocolate covered Valium along, they are hard to come by around here.
Wow, Julie, your post raises so many thoughts for me. This is the first time you've mentioned being OK with an only child, previously I think you said that was not an option. (I'm not being accusatory, it is just interesting that you are in a different place now.) Your question "would it all be worth it if it didn't result in a healthy baby" applies to my situation. My secondary infertility was caused by complications from the birth of my first resulting in Asherman's Syndrome (uterine scarring.) We went through 3 years of surgeries, alternative medicine, and fertility treatments (stopping short of IVF) resulting in one miscarriage but no baby. Was it worth it? It was in the sense that I needed to do what I felt was "enough" to get to the point of being OK with our 3-person family. Had I stopped sooner, I think I might always have regrets. That point is different for everyone - many people need to go much further than we did. But I felt it was time to stop, and getting off the fertility roller coaster provided relief and allowed me to be a better mom to the child I already had.
It is equally noble to release a desire when it becomes a burden as it is to achieve the goal you initially created.
Giving up can be a great thing, especially if you do it to save yourself.
I rarely post, but have been along side you since your blog's inception. Now, with one unbelievable son who just turned two, we are once again in the same EXACT place. God I could have written this post- though not as eloquently.
I have to say I am relishing this feeling of satisfaction and although I still feel the desire to have another, life feels more complete in a way that it hasn't for 5 years. Good thoughts for both of us and I hope we are happy when this chapter is over- I think we will be.
Why does everyone always pick on the brazil nuts? Don't people know they're a great source of selenium? Poor, poor brazil nuts...
Maybe I have no business opining, because I did end up with more than one. But I often thought of stopping before we got there. It was relatively easy for us, and we ended up with three instead of two. A year of trying on our own, two rounds of IVF. The first time around, I would have done anything to become a mother. But once I had my son, that unrelenting desire -- to become a mother -- had been fulfilled. The desire for more was much less intense, more "on paper" than in the heart. I love having three children, and it was certainly worth the trying, the money (no insurance) the hellish pregnancy. But I do honestly see many great advantages to having only one child, and I do believe if we'd ended up with only one, I would eventually have decided that that was just right, and would have been just as happy with one fewer than I'd planned as I am with one more.
We had a daughter through IVF and the minute I got pregnant, the IVF-angst just disappeared (not the myriad of other pregnancy related worries though). Yippee, I'm just like you see, I'm pregnant too. Then the baby was born, in the company of 12 or so others from our ante natal class. Still feeling yippee until at 5 months, one of the other mothers is pregnant again...and several more are trying. Now there are 5 second babies, two pregnancies and me and another fellow IVF-er who is not having another due to the difficulties having the first (I know that's not 12, we have had some drop outs).
Last July I had the first of 5 unsuccessful FETs, in April I had a BFN from another round of IVF. I tell myself once our last 2 blasts have been used it's game over for us, however I have an insane 'need' need for another child, I know I should be happy with one and I love her to bits but I want another. Is that so bad? Who says I should be happy with the one?
Sorry to go on - your post really brought a few feelings to the fore. I'm glad I read it.
As always, a beautifully written, thought-provoking post. We too have an adorable "only child" and despite a prize-winningly crappy pregnancy last time, I can't give up on the idea of giving her a little sis or brother. Like so many others, I yearn for the innocence of perfect fertility. I know all too well what could lie ahead, it's terrifying, but I'm too scared to live with regrets to give up just yet.
Personally, I think I wuld go through a lot to give my child a sibling. Would not risk my health, of course, but would adopt in a heartbeat. At the risk of offering a contoversial opinion (and hey, after all those folks suggested you can't love an adopted kid as much, why not offer a controversial opinion), I think that kids who grow up without siblings are missing out.
Yes, I know several happy and well-adjusted only kids, and several messed up people who have siblings. But to me, using that to make a point is like saying, "I know lots of happily single people." Of course you can be single and happy, but isn't it nicer to have a lifelong loving companion (if you are fortunate enough to get that in marriage)?
Same thing with people sho say that they watch friends fight with their siblings and are glad they don't have anyone. It's sort of like saying you are glad you don't have a husband because you see your friends fight with theirs. Yes, all relationships are complicated, and the closer they are the more complicated still. But usually the benefits outweigh the complications.
I have two sisters and had an extremely contentious relationship with one of them growing up. We have our share of family issues and complicated stuff going on. And yet, I am so so so so thankful for both of them. They have been like a rock for me over the years, someone to touch base with in hard times, to understand each other and our background in a way that most friends never can, to share the responsibility of aging parents and to know there are two people out there who would always take me in if I really needed it. I could go on and on. I have had more than my share of fights with my siblings, but I treasure them.
I'm not saying that all people need to have two kids. I just think that a sibling is a huge gift to give your child and if at all possible, should be explored.
I'm here to tell you it's not that different when you're not infertile just aging out of the process. I've felt and feel all the same things you talk about. In fact, I have a chapter in my next book about it which I can't post but I'd send you personally (it's not long) if you want to hear something that sounds painfully similar to what you're saying.
I remember laying on the operating table right after my spinal and cath were put in thinking, "what the hell was I thinking, this just isn't worth it." That was, until I heard him cry. And then I saw him, and you know what???? It was worth every gosh darned minute and then some. There are times I yearn for yet another baby, and then there are times when I know I'm done. And I have 3 children (the last two required infertility stuff). You don't really know. Really. I don't know you, but I do know that you will do what is best for you and Paul and Charlie. And in your heart of hearts, you will know what that is.
Mmmm. Yes. Going through something very similar over here, with age thrown into the IF mix (and none of it chocolate coated, alas).
We are blessed with one heartmeltingly lovely 14 month old son, hard won. I am an only child (from a rather dysfunctional single parent family, which I'm sure unfairly skews my views on only children), and I yearn not so much for another child for me (although I would love another), but to give my son a sibling. I feel that if I can, I ought to.
I may not be able to: I'm now 41, and our most recent IVF attempt saw most of the UK national stimming reserves being thrown at my ovaries for what felt like months, to very little effect. To everyone's surprise, we had two eggs, which went on to become two embryos, neither of which decided to stick around.
We go for a debrief next week, but thanks to this and other blogs, I probably know more about our options than my consultant. Different protocol with my eggs? I suspect they will propose this, but with chances of less than 10% it seems like madness. Donor eggs? Have to go abroad, research clinics, ethics, reputations (that's if husband can get his head around the thought of DE in the first place). Adoption: not personally for us.
It beckons to me, the glorious thought of Just Stopping Trying, at many random moments throughout the day. When I sprinkle ground linseed on my morning porridge, with an equally healthy assortment of seeds. As I pop my daily folic acid pill. As I plan for how long my son will stay in the nursery, before having his proper big boy bedroom. As I pour the crap fizzy drinks my husband loves and buys on the QT down the sink. As I don't drink a glass of wine with dinner because I don't want to go over my 4 glasses a week.
Because I know, glorious urban myths (you know who you are) notwithstanding, that if we - and by we I mean I - stop actively trying, that's it: our family will stop at 3. Three very happy people. With two dogs and three cats and who knows what other animals our son will adopt. With great cousins and playmates.
And yet, and yet. When I imagine our son growing up, it's always with a little brother or sister at his side. Someone to play with, fight with, learn that you can argue ferociously with someone and still sit next to them at tea, someone who will be on his side, someone he learns to look out for, someone to have in-jokes with, to poke fun at his parents with.
In writing this it is embarassingly clear how far I am from any resolution, and I really don't want to have time make it for me by default.
Thank you for this post.