I’m getting clucky. Really clucky.
And that can only be a bad thing because, for a number of reasons, there’s no way we are going to be trying to conceive any time soon.
And that makes me sad. Sad in a way that reminds me so strongly of how I felt when we were trying to get pregnant the first time around.
When we were TTCing, I didn’t get angry. Or jealous. Or frustrated. I know I’m in a vanishingly small minority among IFers, but I used to love seeing babies and pregnant bellies; I wanted to hear people’s stories about pregnancy, birth, and parenting. It gave me hope; I think in a way it enabled me to live vicariously through other people’s experiences. So no, I never felt angry or jealous.
But I did feel sad. Sad down to the core of my being. And I really don’t want to feel that again.
There are so many anxieties that fuel this sadness. How on earth am I going to take time out of my very demanding, very inflexible career to have a baby? How will we support two children if I do take time off? When will my husband be ready to embrace the idea of having another child? Worse yet, what if he never wants another? When will there be time for the third child I already know I want?
And behind it all, there is the other. That base fear that underpins it all. What if there is no second child? What if this time the treatments don’t work? What if I wait too long?
What if I miss my chance?