This might alarm you, but I’m not having another child. I have a perfectly good one, sitting beside me right now, asking for water, a cookie and coloring my sock blue with a marker (washable, thankfully). And, I adore her. Like, really, really adore her. But, I don’t want another one. So please stop asking if I’m having another kid.
And, please for the love of god, stop looking at me like I have 18 heads when you ask me if we’re going to put another bun in my oven, and I let you know (for probably the 15th time) that “we are so happy with our family of three.”
Because we really are very happy with our little trio. And, although I’m sure your intentions are pure and with love, you might not know just how hard it was for this little trio to come to be.
You didn’t sit on the cold tile floor of our bathroom to see that big fat negative on each and every pregnancy test we took. And, you didn’t drive yourself crazy looking at each and every one of those stupid little sticks of failure in every light possible, in every room of your house; in the sunlight, by candlelight, by the glow of your fridge at midnight while you binge on an entire cake in protest. Was there a faint line? Could it be? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t.
You didn’t sit in stirrups with probes and wands and god knows what exploring (sometimes painfully) your most private places to find out why you were letting the world down by still not growing your family. I know this is probably a lot to digest. But I’d like for you to step into my shoes, just for a moment.
You didn’t carry your husband’s sperm in a test tube nestled between your boobs from one office to another to keep them warm between three failed intrauterine inseminations. It sounds funny doesn’t it? I’ll admit, we laughed about it (pretty hard actually). But, it’s probably not how you would envision the conception of your most precious gift. And I promise you it most certainly lacked the bow-chicka-bow-wow we imagined it would be.
But that’s not where the story ends. Did you scrape every last penny you had to make one final attempt at fulfilling your dream of being a mother? Did you throw your body into what felt like menopause only to overstimulate it to the point of being hospitalized? Did you get blood work every single morning for months to check your hormone levels? Did your husband give you multiple shots in your stomach later that night and for days upon days, upon days to force your body into the type of ovulation no women should experience? Oh, the bruises. They were not awesome.
But that sweet little heartbeat was…a boy one. One we saw, imagined in our lives, and subsequently lost way too soon. We held on to his twin though – and she was a spitfire from the start. Have you ever suffered morning sickness every single day for 9+ months? It’s not pretty. And, it doesn’t make us want to have another kid.
I know you mean well. I know you love me. But, please for the love of all that’s holy stop asking me if we are having another kid. Thanks to the grace of god and science our miracle arrived. She made her parents endure 37 hours of un-medicated (hard) labor, followed by 3 hours of pushing, followed by a c-section, but that little lady came and she was…and remains to be absolute perfection. And, who wants to mess with that? Not us. Not ever.