I just got off the phone with a family member. Now, we didn't tell a lot of people, hardly any honestly, about the fact that we did three infertility rounds this past summer. But I shared it with him tonight. And I was devastated to hear his disappointment. Not in the fact that I didn't get pregnant, but that I even tried.
A lot of times I don't even let myself think about how much I'd like another baby. Part of me feels so selfish knowing that there are other people who try and try and have no children to show for it. I feel like I should be thankful for the two I have. But another nagging part of me is angry. I met a woman today who casually laughed and told me about her three boys, and how she's been trying to talk her husband into a fourth. How she loves being home (don't even get me started on the insinuated working-mom-guilt) and how she just wants to keep procreating and poppin' kids out. (okay, I might be exaggerating a little bit here, but you get my point.) She topped it off by chuckling "We got pregnant three weeks after we got married!" (Please hear this phrase and imagine an excited, cheerful, laughing voice...ha ha!)
I was pissed. I'll be honest. I wish I could sneeze and become pregnant. (Okay, well that might not be the best idea, but you get my drift.) I wish I could not hear about how I should leave it "in God's hands" or "just relax." Seriously? I cannot fathom that God wouldn't want me to have another child if I wanted one.
I wanted him to be sad for me, to comfort me, to understand me. That it feels like flushing money away. That I secretly worry at night that I am being selfish for even trying. That I worry that I am asking too much. That I should be happy with what I have. That getting pregnant again might be more like risking my life again.
It makes me question myself sometimes. Am I right to want this?