I’m going to admit something you’re not supposed to admit, especially when you’ve been diagnosed with infertility, and you’ve already put yourself through almost a year of fertility treatments: The older Preston gets, and the further away we get from the infant stage, the more unsure I am. Unsure of a lot of things. Unsure of whether I can picture myself having another baby at this point in my life.
I’m unsure if I want to go through all the fertility treatments again, yes, but that’s not all I’m unsure of. Do I want to go through all those sleepless nights again? Preston was The World’s Most Perfect Baby. We won’t get that lucky again, I know that. But regardless, do I have it in me? Is this really something I want? Or is it something I think I’m supposed to want?
The truth is, it is something I wanted. During all those grueling months of fertility treatments, I was sure I wanted this. But like I admitted last week, taking these last few months off has given me a lot perspective, and I’m not sure that perspective is the kind of perspective that makes you realize you want something, or don’t want something.
What I’m trying to say is, I’m wavering. Some days I’m sure I want to do this again. I want another baby. I want a sibling for Preston. Other days? I’m content with having only one child. We have it down; our routine is set; I’ve got this. I’m also juggling a lot, and I don’t know what the upheaval of another baby will do to our lives. Is that a terrible thing to think?
If it weren’t for Preston, and how much he longs for constant companionship, would I be considering having another child at this point? I’m not so sure anymore.
He’s at such a fun age; we have such a close bond; he’s my best bud. He's my life. My reason for everything. Sometimes I don’t know if I have room in my life for more. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but sometimes I do. And I question whether or not this is something I want for me, for him, or for us…
Feeling this way might be a side effect of infertility—if I can ever find the time to seek counseling for it, I might get to the bottom of these feelings I have. If I were to psychoanalyze myself, I might realize that knowing how hard the road ahead of me is could be why I’m suddenly feeling this way. If getting pregnant were as easy and natural as it was the first time, maybe I wouldn’t see it as such a chore, as such a big hill to climb, for something I'm right this very minute not entirely sure I want anymore.
Maybe it’s my age—hate to say it, but it's a big thing. I have a hard enough time finding energy at the end of a long workday for my two-and-a-half-year-old. How on earth am I going to do this with a newborn too? But gosh, I loved the newborn stage. Those first three months were the best three months of my life. Even the sleepless nights. I love newborn babies. I loved being pregnant. I loved that time in my life. But things are different now; I'm different. (I'm older.)
Every stage of Preston’s life (save for those 6-7 months of the Terrible Tantrums) have been so beyond my wildest expectations of awesome. I don’t take a second of his life for granted. I cherish every minute I spend with him, as totally cheesy and cliche as that sounds. I have outer-body experiences every day with him. How did I get so lucky? He fills me up with so much happiness, even when things don't seem so happy all the time. I honestly couldn’t love anything—or any one—more. He's a pretty freaking amazing kid. Ask anyone who knows him.
Perhaps this feeling of uncertainty is fleeting. I’ve wanted another kid longer than I haven’t. Maybe I’m just getting cold feet, as we’re getting to the point of it’s now or never.
Have you ever gotten cold feet? Have you ever wavered during your infertility journey? Have you ever wavered about having more kids? Please tell me I’m not alone, and this too shall pass.