Infertility and Having a Baby

I am lucky. I was able to get pregnant with my first child and give birth to a wonderful little human being. I am also lucky to be married to someone with a well-paying job and to be employed at a reasonably-paying job myself. I get to work at something I generally enjoy doing and get to keep that part of my identity. I am able to afford sending my child to daycare (although the working-mom guilt is totally real) and I am able to buy them things that I want to buy them.

And I do.

I try to savor every moment I have with my little one because, even though we have always planned on having more than one kiddo, in the back of my mind I always worry this could be the only experience I ever have with this. I could be experiencing all this sweet little firsts, but on the other side, I am potentially experiencing all these bittersweet little lasts. The last time I have a little one in newborn clothes. The last baby I get to get cute nonsense toys for. The last baby I get to make baby blankets for. The last baby I got to breastfeed. And on, and on.

So I shamelessly buy the cute little clothes for my child, even though they aren't really needed. When I see a cute toy, I'm going to consider buying it. When my little one falls asleep on me, I consider just letting them nap there (but often I don't, because they nap better in their crib). I let the clutter happen, and the chores pile up sometimes, because I want to enjoy being with my kiddo in their tiny years, because I may never get another set of tiny years to experience. I drool over cute cloth diapers and consider getting just another cute style, because I may never have another baby in diapers. I want to experience everything with my child and I am afraid I am going to miss out.

My husband tends to stay looking at the positive. He is certain we will have another baby. But in the darkest corner of my heart, I am afraid. Afraid I am going to let him down, afraid I am going to let my little one down because having a sibling is a wonderful experience. Afraid that I am defective. My infertility haunts me because we have always assumed we would have more children, but in reality, this could be our only baby.

Opening Old Wounds

Hello again. It's been awhile.

My little olive is now 18 months old and we are getting on the roller coaster again. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I love my toddler so much and there is guilt there about having another child because there won't be the same amount of attention to go around. We always wanted more than one child though, so here we are again.

We unsuccessfully started not not-trying when our little one was 12 month old, while I was still breastfeeding (I loved the idea of tandem feeding and was super hopeful that I could get pregnant while breastfeeding). With no since of my cycle restarting, or me being pregnant, we set the date of 18 months to wean our toddler and start seeing a doctor again; lucky for me and my mom guilt, the little one self-weaned at 17 months.

I've been to the doctor now, and we have a game plan, but there was definitely a gut punch when the doctor matter-of-factly noted I was there for Infertility Counseling. Currently I am waiting impatiently for my period, which should be the result of taking the week of progesterone pills to induce it. So I feel sad, bloated and defeated.

I'm on the roller coaster again and I'm not looking forward to the ride.