Please Stop Asking Me When I Am Going To Have Number Two

“When are you going to have number two?”

Honestly, if I could answer this question with any amount of certainty, I would. But I can’t. I can’t tell you because I don’t even know myself.

Sometimes, I wish this question could only be reserved for those who truly know what they are asking me when they ask it. For those who were with me the first time we tried to have kids. For those who know that what they are really asking me is, “So, have you started charting yet?” or “Have you gone to the doctor to see if you can get back on Clomid again?” and, “Are you mentally prepared for the emotional roller coaster of trying to conceive, like last time?”.

In my heart, I don’t feel like I am done. But I don’t know if that is a false hope or fantasy that I am clinging to because I am not ready to accept that this might be it for us. Maybe it is one of the reasons why I have sacrificed as much as I have for this thing called parenthood. I want to enjoy all the moments, be there for them, see them happen firsthand…because who knows, this may be it. No second chances.

I’m not like the other moms I know, many of whom had it fairly easy getting pregnant. I know moms who talk as if they are already pregnant with their second, and sometimes I envy that. I envy that certainty they feel, that confidence in their reproductive system that I just don’t have. I smile, and I am happy for them, but if I am being honest–it also makes me sad.

My daughter, who is nearly two and a half, is our miracle baby. We fought to conceive her, and just when we had all but given up, she graced us with her presence.

After we had her, there was a long pause in the kids questioning, but since she has turned two, they have ramped back up. Even some of those who knew what we went through seem to have forgotten the struggle we had to bring her here.

Even though I am not getting any younger, I still don’t feel this rush to start the process all over again. I really want to be the person who says, Hey, I am just going to let nature take its course! but deep in my heart, I know what we are in for.

Dear stranger, friend, family member: When you ask me this question, it hurts. It reminds me of a pain I felt before I had children, a pain that I am not eager to feel again. It reminds of prescriptions, doctors visits, negative pregnancy tests, and heck, negative ovulation tests. It reminds me of endless tears and feelings of inadequacy. It reminds me of a wound that has not yet healed because I am waiting for the temporary band-aid to be ripped off in preparation for the trying to conceive roller coaster of the aforementioned number two.

The number two that may, or may not happen.

Your question also reminds me to be grateful, because I sure do love my number one. She may be my one and only, and whether I have more kids or just her, being her mother is the greatest privilege I could have ever been bestowed, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. Even if she is not enough for you, she is enough for me.

2 thoughts on “Please Stop Asking Me When I Am Going To Have Number Two

  1. So much “YES!” to this. I got a little misty-eyed reading this post, feeling the struggle and heartache you endured trying to conceive the first time around. I loathe this question also. I hate it when someone asks, “So you only have the one?” It’s not appropriate to tell them no. I can’t tell them that I have three angel babies in heaven. That even though I’m able to get pregnant with the ease of flipping a switch, my body keeps rejecting my children before they even have a heartbeat. Most people can’t sympathize because they don’t see it as a real loss. It wasn’t a real baby, after all, it was just the complex formulation of a few cells, created between two people. It was SO much more to me. The hope I had for each pregnancy and love I felt for each tiny seed growing inside me were very real. I gained a ton of weight, was pretty depressed for awhile, and completely lost sight of myself. It was hard to get out of bed. I hated myself. A few months after my daughter was born I got mad at my husband. I declared that I never wanted to have more children with him and set up an appointment to get an IUD (Intrauterine Device) which would prevent pregnancy for up to five years. Four years later, needless to say, I wasn’t mad at him anymore and had my IUD removed so that we could conceive again. I’ve lost three pregnancies in 14 months. Testing, thus far, has been inconclusive but I believe the IUD and/or it’s removal caused some kind of scarring, preventing me from carrying to term. It’s taken me ages to stop blaming myself, crushing myself with guilt over my hasty decision making. I hated my body for betraying me. It’s been an uphill struggle, dealing with grief and the elephant in the room -will we try again? In order to heal I’ve begun accepting my family of three as complete, rather than incomplete. I’m working hard to create a life I love so that maybe, just maybe, I can make something good come out of this. HUGS to you Stephanie, thanks for blogging about this! Let’s enjoy the heck out of our miracle-girls!

    • Its hard to believe that many many moms feel this way but are too “afraid” to say the words you have just written. There’s many of us that did go through a tough road to get to where we are. Some of us go through miscarriage (s) as well as infertility and they dont understand the wound that is in our hearts And your right with every repeating question they ask it does take that bandage of little by little. Its an indescribable pain that only those who have gone through it know. We are very lucky have it be with only one child or three whatever we are blessed with is whats right for us. So for those that keep asking is that your only one or why did you have so many just remember itsthe road hasnt been easy but we are very Grateful for the children that we do have.

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