I check out the blog posts of some other sisters in RPL, and I marvel at the bravery. To be struck with blow after blow, and to continue forging on in a quest to add a/nother baby to their home.... it's well, brave.
My cycle is a mess. I can't tell when I ovulated, hell, I can't even tell IF I ovulated, and honestly, I have a nagging suspicion that I didn't. For anyone who cares, I think I am on day 25 of a cycle that has been anywhere from 27 to 32 days.
I have been down this road enough to know I will eventually get a period. Once I do, maybe the new mega-powered scary herbs my acupuncturist ordered direct from a chinese dude in NYC will do the trick. Or maybe the new found commitment to drop the 10 pounds of baby weight accumulated over 5 pregnancies will. Cutting substantial amounts of sugar will only help.
Whatever that drive was that pushed me to keep going and going and going - towards a road of 53 weeks of pregnancy (who's counting) without taking home an actual living baby - it's depleted. Maybe it's Niblet's seventh birthday. Maybe it's my rocking hard at work lately, not surprising given that I am not bursting into tears or running to terrifying ultrasounds on a weekly basis.
My mom and dad recently had me on the phone and not so delicately asked if I was still trying. And I told them "No, not really." And my Dad sounded surprised and my Mom did not. And they asked if I was still seeing my therapist (they are DEEPLY dubious of therapy) and I said, "yes, I am, in fact she's awesome." And they asked if my husband was ok with this, and I firmly noted that all he has ever wanted was for me to be happy, and the decision rests with me. And I went on to explain,
I won't prevent a pregnancy, because sure, miracles happen. But I can't do this anymore. Four years of my life has been insanely painful. I just can't see a good outcome in sight, so we just can't keep trying to have a baby. We can be pleasantly surprised, but I suspect we won't be. We have one beautiful child and she is enough.
Is she really enough? That's a loaded question. I don't think I will ever wake up in the morning and feel deeply at my core that my family is complete. But in the past year I have learned to wake up each morning, find the laughs and insanity and frustration that await as I get the privilege of mothering this ridiculously smart, adorable, hilarious kid, make my way to work, do my thing at the office, come home to my viking and niblet, try not to get attacked by the scary monsters of my dreams, and eventually start it all over again the next day.
I'm not brave, despite all of the crap that has been thrown at me these past few years. It's just that, as I also explained to my parents, I am not the least bit self-destructive.
I've reached that elusive tipping point that we discuss on RPL boards like, all the time: where the fear of another loss outweighs the desire to keep trying to have a baby.
Not brave at all.