So here we are; 2 years, 3 months and 22 days since we said goodbye to Poppy. To be entirely honest, it still feels like it only just happened. But facing facts, it's been quite some time.
I really thought we'd have another baby by now. I realise I wouldn't have been ready to deal with another pregnancy, or possibly another baby, but when I think back to my thoughts in the minutes after we realised Poppy had died, my ONLY thought was, "I need a baby."
The decision to try again was made whilst I was still on the operating table during my cesarean. We were holding our beautiful, silent, longed for baby, for whom we'd waited for 3 long years, and I just couldn't imagine all the preparation we'd been through to include a little one into our lives would be for nothing. I needed to fill my aching arms.
As time went on, we realised we weren't ready yet. We wanted it, but we weren't ready to handle it. The truth is; grief is all consuming. It feels like there isn't much room for anything else. So we waited. Then we kind of started trying again, and then took a break, then tried again, before throwing ourselves whole heartedly in the magical world of IVF. It's been a year since we started to walk the IVF path. 12 months of invasive testing, painful procedures, meds that make me crazy, and a very harrowing and traumatic miscarriage. And still, no baby.
All up, we've been trying to bring home a sibling for Xavier for almost 6 years. 6 friggin' years! Are you seriously kidding?! In that time we've been pregnant 6 times, and had and lost Poppy. So the question needs to be asked. Am I a glutton for punishment? Will it ever happen? Could I cope with life if it doesn't? I've never considered not being ABLE to having another baby. I've considered not wanting to TRY, and deciding enough was enough. As in MY choice. But what if...well...I'm done? What if God has decided I've had enough chances? What if I've been patient for nothing?
I'm not trying to be dramatic or anything, but I can feel a tantrum building in me. Once again my FB news feed it filled with pregnancy announcements, new arrivals and the growing little sons and daughters of others. I try not to be jealous, but I'm sure I look a little like the Hulk. Green with envy. Do I deserve all of this? Am I so terrible a person? I know I'm not perfect, but maybe I'm awful. So awful I'm not worthy to be a mother again.
I've kept the faith for a very long time that good things happen to those who wait. But I'm not sure that's true. I'm not giving up, not yet anyway. But when does continuing this journey become lunacy? When do I hit the point where it will take more courage to stop than keep going? When will the past 6 years amount to only heartache and nothing else?
For now, I am still determined. But each little knock adds to the myriad of blows we've already taken. I'm a bit worried about the state of the mortar holding me together as it is. Please, please, please let it be our turn soon. I know we don't deserve it any more or less than many others, but I promise it will mean more to us than it might to some. A baby who joins our family, who chooses us to be their family, will know love beyond imagining. They will know a big brother who will truly value every minute they spend together because he didn't get that with his first sibling. They will know Grandparents who know one more kiss and cuddle will never be enough, because they missed the opportunity with Poppy. They will know parents who will endure all of the bad stuff, the worry and doubt, just for one moment of joy they have missed.
Please. Please. Please. Let our patience be rewarded.