“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.