It’s amazing how time repeats itself. I have found myself this past month unwittingly trying to become pregnant again, even though I told myself that we wouldn’t “try”, per say, but rather let things happen. Ha. I received the all clear from my doc and immediately, my mind retreated into my old thoughts as if I had learned absolutely nothing since January.
And I can’t help but think… you know nothing, Jon Snow.
I feel as if my Jessie is telling me, “come on mom, really!?”
G wasn’t planned. We simply stopped preventing one month and four months later we learned our lives were going to forever change for the better.
Yet now, I feel some unspoken pressure. G will be two this summer. I will be 31 (eep!) this year. If we want to grow our family to include more than two children (living on this earth) before I am 35 (a mere 4 years away…) and keep the age gap to a minimum, then tick, tick, tock goes the clock. You better get a move on dear.
But financially, it’s better if we have to wait. With Jessie, my husband wouldn’t have gotten the paid parental leave he would get from his new job if our next child is born after February 2017.
You know nothing.
I can’t help but feel as if I am a failure. It’s completely irrational, I know. I should be pregnant. But I am not (and I can’t remember where I would have been in the pregnancy any more). Instead, I sit here, enduring the pain of not being pregnant. Literally. And feeling as if it may never happen again (yet simultaneously relieved I am not).
Miscarriage breaks you. Pregnancy, the hope to be, is all tainted. The excitement about being pregnant is mixed with the absolute terror of fear, fearing it might happen all again. It is a constant fright. A constant terror. A constant disappointment.
When G was born, we couldn’t help but be amazed at what a miracle she is. We are constantly asking ourselves, “where did she come from?” Almost two years later, she’s a walking, talking, precocious and adorable little girl, who often is asking for donuts. It’s amazing how human development even works. It’s a blessing she’s here at all.
And, it’s a blessing my daughter Jessie didn’t have to endure any lifelong pain from her trisomy 16.
All of this is a reminder that I cannot put my worth, my hope in my ability (or inability) to become and maintain a pregnancy. I know the desire of my heart is to have a sibling or two for G, but I cannot even control whether that will happen or not, even though I like to think I can.
I was given a gift. G is that gift. Jessie was the reminder that all babies are tiny miracles. Beggars cannot be choosers on when that gift is bestowed.