Climb on the Guilt Train

I spend a lot of time time lately wading through a sea of guilt. I've carried survivor guilt since having my son. Now I'm feeling guilt for longing for a second child. I feel guilty that I can't get pregnant like a "normal" person. I feel guilty for the time and money that will be expended in a quest for a second child. I feel guilty for the insincere congratulations I've been offering people when they tell me they're expecting their second plus child. I feel guilty for the insidious jealousy that has crept back into my heart associated with babies. I feel guilty that I spend a lot of time feeling sad and incomplete when I am so utterly and incredibly blessed. I feel guilty that this time around there are stipulations that weren't present before.

One of the sticking points in moving forward for myself, and I believe DH too, is the chance of a multiple pregnancy. On the journey to my son we were completely open to whatever number of blessings would be bestowed on us. This time things are a little different. Having first hand experience with an infant under our belts we find ourselves hesitant to bite off more than we can chew. One would think doing IVF would make that pretty easy in most cases since you decide how many embryos to transfer but for us it's a little more complicated. Our first IVF we transferred one and didn't get any frozen. We got pregnant and miscarried. Our second IVF we transferred two on the advice of our RE since we'd had 2 miscarriages after she confirmed we'd be ok with twins and got pregnant with our son. We didn't end up with any frozen. Our clinic has very, very strict criteria for freezing, they pretty much only freeze when they're absolutely sure they'll survive defrosting and my crappy eggs don't do well enough to meet those criteria. Both times we've ended up with a really great blast and a pretty good blast followed by some good blasts, and it is hard to leave them behind knowing they won't make the cut to be frozen. So when we're putting so much time, energy, and emotion into something so huge we want to set ourselves up for success. However we don't want to be overly successful...but who are we to add stipulations to something like this when there's so many people out there who would give anything to have as many babies as they could. So I feel guilty for stipulating that I really only want one more baby, while realizing that the possibility for twins still exists even with a single embryo transfer. And I'm terrified about whether a single embryo transfer will work for us, or just how many SET's would be necessary. DH said the other day that he can only handle one more IVF. Then he proposed pursuing adoption. More guilt from me. I really, really, really want another pregnancy that I can have a chance to enjoy. My last pregnancy I spent every second terrified that it would end at any moment. I feel guilty that I want so badly to have another chance to experience pregnancy that I find it hard to even consider DHs suggestion. Going through labor and delivery and feeding my son for over a year on breastmilk produced by my body made me feel something for my body that I never felt before. I was proud of what it had accomplished. Now that I'm finding myself yearning for another child I'm remembering what it feels like to be angry at your body, to feel betrayed by it, and to curse it for not being "normal". But I remember how good it felt those first few hours after my son was newly born, to look at him and know that my body had done something so right. So incredible. So beyond words, after all those heartbreaking betrayals that led up to my son. I'd love to feel that again. That empowered feeling. I feel guilty about wanting to feel those feelings again too. Ugh so much guilt.

The Journey Begins (Again)

As my son's 18 month birthday rapidly approaches I find myself desperately longing for another baby. It's tough because I remember acutely the pain involved with our first trek down the infertility path. I remember distinctly each pothole and bump we were subjected to. I remember bargaining with whoever was in charge of bringing babies if they'd only bless us with one I promised to be sated. I promised I wouldn't ask for anything else. I promised to be ever thankful if only I could be given one child. And here I am. Asking for another. But don't get it twisted, I'm thankful for the fabulous, amazing, incredible one that I have. Which sort of lends itself to wanting another.

I remember feeling malice towards other patients in the waiting room of the infertility clinic when I found out they had other children. I felt like they were selfish. Like there was a finite amount of success available at the clinic and these women, who already had children, were robbing me of the chance to have just one because they were greedy. And now I'm one of those greedy women.

This time the tango feels different. The stakes are different. The hurdles are different. Last time there was an "I'll do anything. ANYTHING. For a child." This time I have a child already and I am seeking to balance myself between him and the quest to add another child to our family. Sure I want another baby just as badly as before, but now I have someone else's well being to consider. The time spent at the clinic for monitoring, the time spent recovering from an egg retrieval, the time spent at the transfer, the agonizing two week wait spent analyzing every twinge & pinch, all of those moments don't belong to just me anymore. I tell myself that the sibling relationship I'm trying to create for my son far outweighs any time spent attempting to conceive the baby my heart aches for.

Then there's my DH. Our son's birth all but erased the raw, sting of the miscarriages and treatment from my mind. I can recall the feelings acutely when I allow myself to but I choose as much as I can to avoid that practice. It serves no real purpose. DH however is reminded immediately each time I lament my longing for a second child. He remembers the toll the treatments took on me both physically and emotionally. He remembers the pain of failure and being powerless to fix what wasn't working. As badly as I was damaged, I had an outlet. I vented. I cried. I found others who knew how I felt and why I felt what I did. Through them I found a way to cope. Aside from me he carried the burden alone and I believe that has made it harder to release. So while I'm ready to jump into the trenches, he's taking more convincing. Slowly I'm feeling his resistant wall crumbling and I feel he's opening to the idea of scratching the second baby itch.