As it turns out, the flood of second pregnancy announcements is starting to get to me, particularly the ones with the September due dates. I am back to the place where I resent people who never had a lick of trouble. It is like they are on one side of this giant invisible fence and I am on another. During the ectopic saga, one friend, who is pregnant with her second, actually asked me why they could not simply move the embryo from the tube to the uterus. Ach. That some people can get through pregnancy while maintaining such ignorance, maintaining this sense that problems with reproduction are for other people, is really galling at the moment.
If I could just know that I will not be able to have another child, I think I would be okay with that now. Gatito is healthy and smart and gorgeous and amazing, and we could have a really nice life just the three of us. He’s an easy-going, relatively low maintenance (for a two-year-old) child and life is pretty simple and happy right now. We could be– no, we are– a fabulously happy family of three. The problem is that once I launch back into trying to conceive next month, I know I will lose this perspective to the desperate, emotional desire for another baby. If I just stopped right now, I could save myself a lot of potential angst and just continue to focus on enjoying the family I have now.
In freakout mode again today, as I considered the timing implications, I realized that I’m so set on trying in May that my stomach got all knotted when I realized that, depending on what the ultrasound says, I may not even be able to try until June. And that’s assuming that my ovaries neatly alternate ovulating which, who knows? I’m considering going in for an ultrasound next week instead. If I’m actually ovulating on the opposite side from last time, I don’t see why I’d need to wait for a second period. (I would ask the doctor’s opinion, of course.) I don’t know if I’m mentally ready, but perhaps that, too, is for the best.
