Prepare for whinging. Yes, I’d love some cheese with this whine. Thank you for asking.
I’m not sure I should even be writing this. It’s…personal. Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t but writing is cathartic for me.
I have helped to raise children that were not mine who I loved(and still do). Because of my divorce they don’t really want anything to do with me. I tried for a while to stay in touch but it became increasingly clear that maintaining a relationship with me was more difficult and awkward than it was beneficial. I have gracefully bowed out. They know I love them. They know I’m here. There are consequences to decisions we make and we don’t get to choose them.
When I met The Brit a whole new world opened up for me. I began to hope against hope for things that I had long ago given up on. I was getting a second chance. For reasons beyond my control but which had nothing to do with an inability to conceive(to my knowledge) I hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to have children of my own. When TheBrit and I got married we decided to start trying to have a baby.
I knew going in that my age was going to be an issue for fertility. I told myself not to get my hopes up. A year went by and nothing happened. My doctor prescribed Clomid. Each month that has gone by since has been a let down. I’m now in my sixth and final round of treatment. I’m disappointed. I’m beyond disappointed. I’m sad.
I’m not just sad. I’m angry. I’m pissed at my ex for not allowing me to have my own children. I’m pissed at myself for not leaving him sooner. I’m pissed at myself for having waited too late. I know it’s irrational to be angry about this. It’s not fair for me to be angry at my ex for not wanting children with me. He had a right to his feelings on the matter. But still. I am. It’s stupid to be angry at myself for hanging in there and trying to make a thing work that was busted from the start. But still. I am.
The what ifs in life can drive a person mad, you know. If only this. What if that.
This is the part where the old me would have prayed. Then prayed harder. Then prayed some more. This is the part where I would have begged for healing and forgiveness. This is the part where the old me would wonder and search my soul to find out what cherished sin I had that prevented God from answering my prayers. This is the part where I would have driven myself crazy wondering what I’d done wrong. This is the part where I’d assume that God just said, “no”.
I know, I know, I have so much to be thankful for. The Brit and I have each other. We have Dottie and Sarah. And just think of all the things we can do, like travel and have our freedom if we don’t have a child. I’ve just never heard anyone on their deathbed regret not taking one more trip or having a bigger house or a nicer car.
We could try IVF but I don’t think I can handle the roller coaster ride that would be. Not only that, TheBrit and I both started over with nothing. It’s a side issue, really, but it isn’t cheap. Insurance doesn’t cover it for obvious reasons. I’m not sure we could afford to pay for IVF and then a child as well. And if it didn’t work the money we spent on the IVF would eliminate the possibility of adoption.
Adoption is an option. I may get there. It’s quite selfish, really, but I wanted the experience of becoming a mother. I really wanted our children. Selfishly I wanted children that wouldn’t just flip a switch and just like that I don’t exist.
This is just a rambling rant about something I have little control over. It is what it is. It will be what it will be. I’ll probably get over it. Maybe. And who knows…it could still happen.