The Baby Bug

Recently I have found myself surrounded by lots of new babies and expecting mommas.  And it's been fun to get to snuggle all these new babies and smell their little heads.  But somehow, even without ovaries, I've been bitten by the baby bug.  Don't ask me how.  I thought post-menopausal women were supposed to be immune.  Apparently not.  Live and learn.  I've spent these last few days desperately missing Patrick, and I know that has a lot to do with why I'm feeling this need for a baby.  I also know that if I sit down and think about things logically, it doesn't really make sense to have a baby.  I'm currently off work on disability, and Phil is at his limit on caregiving right now.  Mira is finally reaching the stage where she is almost helpful.  To suddenly add 18 years to our day-to-day parenting at this point doesn't sound terribly exciting.

I mean, even assuming I could get Phil and me on the same page to agree to another child, then what?  How would we acquire said child?  Our house is never clean enough to pass a foster care or adoption review.  My baby factory is gone.  That leaves using a gestational carrier with an egg donor.  Not an inexpensive scenario.  But hey, I'm just throwing things out there.  Let's assume we made a GoFundMe page and people were nice and funded this endeavor of ours.  Then what?  We'd have the stress of getting the carrier pregnant and going through all the IVF stuff.  Assuming we were successful and got a child, then there's the up late at night and all of that good stressful newborn stuff.
Still, on the flip side, there's getting to see them grow and learn and do all the cute silly things they do that make all of it worth it.  The hugs.  The "I love yous."  A sibling for Mira.  And all of these are good and wonderful things.  And maybe they could override my concerns about being a good caregiver.  And maybe we could do it.  But part of me knows this bug bite is just a partial urge to replace what I lost.  Not that I could ever replace Patrick, but I lost my baby.  I lost the opportunity to see him grow up.  I want that.  But even more, I want Mira to have a sibling.  I want that for her, and I know she wants that very much.  And if I can give that to her, I mean if I have the capacity to even try, isn't it worth it?  Wouldn't you do anything for your kids?

 I don't know the answer.  There isn't a good answer.  There sure as heck isn't a right answer.  There's just me and Phil.  Muddling through.  Together.  Talking.  About where we are.  What we want.  How we feel.  Respecting each other.  Just getting by.  One day at a time.  Maybe we'll do it.  Maybe we won't.  I haven't written this to change Phil's mind.  Rather, my friend reminded me that I use writing to pull my thoughts together.  It's more about figuring out where I am--the answer to which is all over the place.  But at least I have a better handle on the underlying currents that seems to be feeding the bug.  And that's a good start.

Things Can Only Get Better

***Warning--the following includes what some may consider over-sharing***

Hello, 2013.  We are not off to a great start, but that is not entirely unexpected.  I previously mentioned that I was starting the year with major outpatient surgery.  More specifically, I had major hemorrhoid surgery.  Thus, the very slow, very painful, recovery I am currently experiencing is a literal pain in the ass.  I badly needed this surgery.  When I went to the doctor for my surgical evaluation after a visit to the urgent care for two very thrombosed hemorrhoids, he indicated that although their policy is to avoid a hemorrhoidectomy at all costs, that was not an option for me.  After the surgery was done, the doctor reiterated to Phil that the surgery had definitely been necessary.  So here I sit, er lay, trying to recover.  I am having to be patient and sit (lay) still and it's driving me bonkers!  Phil is doing an amazing job taking care of Lil' Bit, but I feel like I'm falling down on the job.  That's right.  I am feeling guilty because I am recovering from surgery!  Cognitively, I know that's twisted, but it doesn't stop me from having those feelings.  Although I haven't figured out how to stop them, I do have a better understanding of how parents forget self-care.  Thus, one of the things I am trying to do while I recover is make sure I am taking care of myself.  After all, had I taken better care of myself earlier in life, I likely would not have needed the surgery.  So, I am trying to use the painful recovery as an object lesson in making sure I do a better job at self-care.  Here's hoping!

Also approaching is the date I start my shots for our next FET.  Honestly, this date will not come soon enough.  I have at least eight friends and relatives who are all pregnant.  Add in all the celebrities--Duchess Kate, Kim Kardashian, Jessica Simpson--and I am an emotional puddle.  On the plus side, I am no longer angry at those who are pregnant.  I am joyful that they are happy and, at least as far as I know, were easily successful in their endeavor.  Still, I am tired of being happy for everyone else.  My joy for them seems to only compound my anger and frustration at being stuck in a holding pattern.  When is it my turn?  Why am I forced to pay thousands of dollars to do what reality stars on MTV do by accident?  While friends and bloggers I follow are all closing down their baby-making factories and having surgery to prevent any more kids, I am angrily fighting against time to get one more in before the clock stops.

So, what has my angry, pitying self done during this recovery period (when not working from home, that is)?  Tortured myself with episodes of TLC's A Baby Story, that's what.  So, let's recap.  I'm in pain and feeling guilty for taking the time necessary to recover from surgery while feeling totally inadequate because my infertility is keeping me from that which I desperately want and my only solution keeps failing.  So, come on January 18.  Get here so I can get started; so I can hope and dream again; so I can feel like I'm doing something productive--something, hopefully, REproductive.  Save me from myself.  Let's make this a year to remember--hopefully for the better.


9 days and counting...