You know, I never really meant for my infertility to follow me here, I originally thought that by moving to a new home, having a new blog and a new name, that it would be enough for me to let it go. Naïve maybe, or perhaps just a desperate need to feel like that broken part of me could be left behind, that by making the decision to move forward I could let it go.
Turns out I was wrong, the first 6 months here I floundered, I struggled to find my voice, my blog posts felt unnatural as I tried to force myself into a new mould. Then one day I realised that I’d been going about things all wrong, that part of my voice comes from that pain, that while I had outgrown the place where I wrote of the anguish and needed somewhere I could also share the joy, I also needed to accept that the pain was part of my journey.
That’s not an easy thing to do and the thing I struggle to accept the most is that our decision to stop was a choice. We have options and those options are ones that would lead us to having another biological child. For us it’s not a matter of can’t have more kids, we don’t need surrogacy, we don’t need donor eggs or sperm, we don’t want to adopt and in reality it’s just a numbers game for us – the right combination of drugs and whole lot of luck… Because, no matter what the doctors tell you, it all comes down to luck – amazing isn’t it, science can create life but they can’t force it to stick around.
Luck, it’s a big slap in the face to a person without faith.
Our decision to stop came out of a slow decent into an emotional wasteland, every cycle and every little death taking it’s toll, our children, our maybe babies, some dying in a petri dish, some in my body and some even strong enough to pump just enough hormone to trick us into hope. The decision came from hurt, from exhaustion but mostly it came from Dexter, from watching him pick up a colouring pen, from hearing my (then) darling two year old who I thought I’d been so careful to be away from during the many injections say, as he pressed that pen to his abdomen, that he was being like mummy.
I stopped because of him, because we have him and surely he is more important than any of the maybes, he is here and he is present and he deserves the best of me. He never deserved to witness the emotional devastation we went through, he should never have seen me sob so hard that he thought I was laughing and joined in. I stopped because the journey was for him, so he could have a sibling and he was missing out on me, missing out on a whole and present mummy. I stopped for him.
I don’t regret it.
Oh don’t get me wrong, I hurt like hell some days, I rage at the unfairness of life constantly and I would love for things to be different, I hurt most on the days when he asks why he doesn’t have a sister or brother, I ache when I see people who don’t appreciate the gift they’ve been given but then I have days like today when he sings this song to me (totally stolen from a Hi5 episode but with his own twist) as we cuddle before bed and I know I did the right thing.
I’ll care for you,
Watch over you,
We are a family,
Dexter, Mummy, Daddy,
This photo is a year old but I was too lazy to try and find a more recent one of the three of us.
We stopped for him and it hurts, it’s taking time to heal but we don’t regret it.
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