Like Riding a Bike
A story of secondary infertility by guest blogger, April Lovelace Simmons
Your baby is growing up… she smells like cheerios and playdough and something else kind of gross. But there are still whiffs of the sweet, innocent baby smell if you hug her close at night. And you miss it. The dimpled knees and the toothless smiles and the teeny tiny clothes. The horrible sleep deprivation, the chapped nipples and the ceaseless demands have receded into the cavernous mommy brain… so, now it’s time for another one. You got this. No problem, right? Just get back on the bike and everything will come back. Start counting days and inspecting cervical fluids. Get a general idea of the correct week and just do lots of hanky-panky and bada-bing, bada-boom, yougotyo’self a bun in the oven.
Ready, set, go!
Except not. Three months pass… it’s not a big deal. Sure, it was disappointing when PMS symptoms were mistaken for early signs of pregnancy. But, we are always really tired and are not quite up to the antics (how many days in row… for reals?) that produced the last little bundle of joy. Also, kind of a lot of baby weight is still hanging around and it has been really hard to do the gym time and cook healthy meals with Toddler scampering about. And Toddler still nurses some at night. Maybe that affects fertility too. It will just take us longer this time. Let’s make a plan. Pee on sticks. Make lots and lots of whoopie. Wean Toddler. Got it.
Now it’s been six months. Insecurity and inadequacy have wormed their way in and are sitting right next to that sad little ache where the love for New Baby is in storage. Casual mentions of Toddler needing a sibling feel like taunts. And all the whoopie? Baby-making is starting to feel like a chore, and that too is heartbreaking. Trusted friends are suggesting doctor’s visits and tests and treatments… but are we really there? Let’s make another plan. Going to funky town will happen every.single.day of THE SEASON. Toddler will get weaned. No excuses. Buy more sticks, better sticks! Do yoga! Get more sleep! Drink lots and lots of water! Go team!
More time… more time… more time.
Queue whistly, twangy music and tumbleweed drifting through the wasteland of parched uterus.
Every pregnancy test is screaming my incompetence. Every round, promising belly makes me smile with longing and then smile harder to hide my tears. And the babies. Snuggling them and kissing their fat cheeks and laughing at their silly antics. It is sweet, sweet torture. The inner dialogue changes. Maybe I don’t really want another baby. This really shouldn’t be this hard. If it’s meant to be, it will be. Our family is fine the way it is. This may not happen. Make it ok, make it ok, make it ok. More plans… but halfhearted this time. Really, Toddler must be weaned. No matter that holding her close is filling my empty, empty arms. And the stress eating because of all the anxiety… not helping fertility either. Things will change… it will work this time. He doesn’t blame you…
No more trips to the store to buy pregnancy tests. The bitches all say the same thing. “You have failed.” “Expired.” “No baby in here.” Just a wait every month until the traitorous cramps visit and bring a tide of lost hope and broken faith. Giving up because what if we keep trying and IT STILL DOESN’T WORK? Being so scared that something is really wrong that going to the doctor is terrifying. Almost as horrible as never again pressing a sweet squally baby to my chest and whispering, “Hush, love, mommy is here.” Almost as terrifying as continuing down this road alone.
So, mommy, I see you standing beside me with your arms crossed over an empty belly. I hear your forced laugh as someone suggests a sibling for Toddler. I feel the longing, the ache, the need. I recognize your pain and validate your loneliness. I don’t have all the answers for you, and I do not know what is at the end of this road. The only promise that I can make you is this: I will not go through this alone any longer. As I continue my journey, whatever that is, I will share. And I encourage you to share too. Here on this blog. With your neighbor or girlfriend or the other mommy in your couponing class who confided her secret hopes. And as a show of good faith, I will share my new plans, even though I am scared to even voice them. I plan to go to the doctor. I am frightened. I am anxious. But more than all of these things, I am here. Standing with you.