I'm not 100% sure what to type here, as that title is very....heavy....but it's what came to me as I sat down to type to the vast unknown tonight.
Trying to conceive after a loss. Just the first part of that brings its own fair share of craziness with temping, charting, opks, timing and always hoping that THIS month is THE month. If you don't know what most of those things are or what trying to conceive really entails (other than just "doing it"..heh), consider yourself very lucky. I know I would.
I've done all of those things and more (and personally think the fertility monitor is a complete waste of money, for anyone wondering) throughout the almost 8 years of our marriage. There have been fertility doctors and surgeries, talk of drugs and the distant possibility of IUI or IVF. I've managed to conceive twice and, ironically enough, both times were completely unexpected. I guess I'm just one of those people for which the old adage "it'll happen when it's supposed to" really must ring true. As annoying as that is (I'm not the most patient person with this whole baby-making business), there are times when a person on the path of infertility....or sub-par fertility, as the case may be....has to just learn to let go and have faith. And hope. And, most of all, patience.
That's where I am today. Trying to conceive, in and of itself, doesn't make me too crazy. It's the "after a loss" part that really makes it...suck, for lack of a better term. And I'm now at the point (after only 9 cycles of this madness) where I've had enough of trying. Each month of trying leads to disappointment, and that disappointment is always heavily shadowed by what should have been.
And what should have been would have been so much nicer than what the last 9 cycles have given me.
What should have been would almost be one year old.
It's hard to think of life that way, and I'm sure I'm not doing my mental faculties any favors by doing so, but that's the reality of me trying to continue to cope with the loss and with the fact that another baby just might not be in the cards.
I actually had a positive pregnancy test - 3, in fact - this last cycle and was thrilled that, finally, I could start making plans for another little one. Only, the tests magically turned negative shortly thereafter and I was left with a huge feeling of disappointment. Whether I had a chemical pregnancy - basically where a fertilized egg begins to implant but the body rejects it or the process is interrupted for whatever reason - or simply had false positives, I'll never know. All I know is that it was the final blow for me and, at this point, I have decided to redirect my energies.
So, I'm no longer "expecting a belly." Am I hoping for one? At some point, absolutely. Maybe it'll happen this month, maybe in a year, maybe never again. Dimas and I love each other, so that love could definitely haphazardly make a baby (we've managed to do it before, God knows how or why it worked out that way both times)...but life goes on, baby or no baby, and I am forced to focus on the things that ARE.
Like my horribly not-flat stomach and overall weakness and weird-lookingness from not exercising in for-ev-er.
And our upcoming move to Texas.
And Halloween.
And, most importantly, my now 3 year old who I absolutely couldn't live without. He is truly a Godsend and brings me more joy than I ever thought possible. I'm going to start yet another blog about his general growing up-ness and my hopes and trials (with lots of errors, I'm sure) at both parenting him and (possibly, hopefully) homeschooling him....at least throughout the preschool years.
So that's that, I suppose. We'll see what the future holds when it gets here (it likes to take its time..what's up with that?). I'd like to end with the VERY first non-preschooler song that Ever memorized and randomly sang the chorus to today:
"atchoo Baaaaby"
something "NUMBER!"
"Call me maybe!"
I can't blame him. It's a catchy tune. :)
