It seems an innocent enough question, and certainly safe enough - after all, I already have a baby, proof of my ability to do so, and it's natural enough to assume that I want to do it again.
And I do. I want to, badly.
A few months ago, I went to the doctor because of a lump in my breast and under my arm. I was scared, of course - who wouldn't be? Thankfully, we got good news on that front - but during the course of the exam, and the blood work that followed, I was informed that I had a condition that makes it very hard to get pregnant. Had I had help getting pregnant with my son? No, I answered - in fact, that piece of business only took 3 weeks.
You are very lucky, I was told.
And I know that. All I need to do is look at my beautiful son to know that. But that doesn't stop me from yearning for another. My biological clock isn't just ticking - the alarm is going off, full-volume, and the snooze button no longer works.
I want to be pregnant again. Honestly, I felt beautiful when I was pregnant. I loved the rounding out of my body, the feel of the hard bump that was my growing son's behind beneath my hands, and Lord knows I appreciated the boost it gave my boobs. I want that feeling of my body being productive, even when I am napping - that feeling that my body is doing what God created it to do. Even the ugly symptoms - the nausea, the swollen feet and ankles...all were just reminders that I was creating life. I want to do that again.
I want to hold another infant. I want to smell the bakery-sweet goodness of his or her head and breath, I want to bathe and lotion and powder each tiny toe and perfect crease and wrinkle. I want that hour at 3 a.m., when the baby needs to be nursed, and it feels like there is no one else on earth but us. I want the sweetness of it, and I also know now the fleetingness of it, as well. I want that, one more time.
I want to watch another baby explore, discover, grow, learn. I want my heart to skip a beat when the baby smiles for the first time, the triumph of the first time baby sleeps through the night, the pride of the first step, and I will take the poop, the spit-up, the fevers and the sleepless nights and the teething. I will take all of that to do it again, easy.
I want my husband to experience it all again, as well. He is a wonderful father, and he wants another child as much as I do.
And perhaps most of all, I want my son to have the chance to be a brother. To have the one person in his life that he is most connected to, the one who will know all the stories and get all the jokes. I want that for my boy.
Yes, I am lucky, but...I want another baby.
The doctor says there are things we can do, and so I am going to do them. My list is short, but it's hard, as well. I need to lose weight. And the damnable part of it is, the problem I have, which is PCOS, makes it incredibly difficult to lose weight. But it's a task that I am determined to complete. And because of the diagnosis, I won't have to wait the normal 12 months of trying to conceive before getting treatment - I simply have to do my part.
The doctor prescribed a medication that should help some with that - not a diet pill, but something that helps regulate insulin and hormones. It doesn't help me lose weight as much as it makes it possible for me to lose weight. I have been dieting, it seems, for 2 years straight, with very little result, and this should change that.
And so I am writing this - not for sympathy, because trust me, I've wallowed around in it enough myself, but for accountability. To nail down my own goals and the huge reason behind them, and put them out there, and live up to them.
The doctor recommended a 10% weight reduction, but I have set my own, bigger goal of when I feel like my body will be best ready to try fertility treatments. I have lost eleven pounds since that appointment - each one a tiny step in the direction I need to go.
I have 49.8 more steps to take.
Wish me luck.
