Maybe done
There was a time in my late twenties when I thought I didn't want children. It was during a period of intense self-involvement after I quit a PhD program and the teaching job that came along with it. For the first time in my adult life, I was able to leave my work at work and enjoy my weekends, evenings, and even vacations (which I could also afford for the first time). Despite always having assumed that my husband and I would have children, I could no longer imagine myself with any. My husband, I think, was only a little taken aback by this change of attitude. Even then, almost a decade ago now, he had known me long enough to know that I change my mind more frequently than I change my hairstyle.
Finally, in the months after my thirty-first birthday, I decided that I did want a family after all. A small family. One child. My husband seemed happy with that idea, although I don't know whether it was because he thought one child was a good idea, or if he thought one would lead to more.
Either way, we decided to get started. Looking back now, I'm embarrassed by my assumption that it would work the way it was supposed to work. I know a lot of infertiles feel this way when they look back at their early days of trying for pregnancy. In our case, it all seems annoyingly cliched. I went for my annual exam one August day and got cleared to start trying. We had "babymaking" sex a couple of times that week, and three weeks later got a positive result on an EPT. Boy, were we glad we'd been using birth control all those years! It's like he just looked at me and I got pregnant!
Ha, ha, ha.
Of course, we immediately told everyone I was pregnant. (Oh, the hubris!) I started buying books about pregnancy and babies. And in among the What to Expect and the Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy, there was this one: Maybe One, by Bill McKibben. Because I was pretty sure that I wanted just one child.
I was halfway through the first chapter when I miscarried for the first time. Then, as I racked up the miscarriages and the years, even one child seemed to slip farther and farther from our grasp. I kept the book, but I couldn't open it again. Doing so seemed to assume that we'd succeed, and that required confidence I didn't have. And the title seemed to mock me. Maybe one. Yeah, maybe if we're lucky.
Well, you know, we finally got lucky. Six years after the first time. Finally, finally. And now here we are, with a six month old baby, with the luxury to discuss whether we should try for another. (There were so many days I never thought I'd get here, that it's still a little embarrassing to even write this "out loud," as it were.)
Right after Alex was born, I thought to myself, "I could do that again." I think I could. If my body would cooperate enough to get a pregnancy started, I think I could make it through another one. Yes, it was the most stressful nine months of my life. Yes, it most likely raised my risk for diabetes. But I'm still alive, aren't I?
A few months later, I was still thinking the same thing. I could do it again. Even after the nightmares of sleep deprivation, the heartbreak of failing at breastfeeding, the frustrations of fussiness. I could do it.
The question is, should I? My husband and I started talking about it a couple of months ago. Really talking about it, seriously. And I was surprised that he seemed to be arguing for -- you guessed it -- just one. I don't know when he started feeling this way, but he definitely seems interested in making Alex our only child.
And after a lot of thinking, talking, and reading, I'm pretty sure I agree. I know it's early yet, it's possible that I'll feel very differently a year from now. But I have some faith in the fact that I made this decision once before, and even back then, it felt right. It feels right now, too. And this time, my husband seems to be on the same page.
So this is what I'm thinking about right now. There's more to say, and I'll probably write more about it here over the coming days. But right now my only child is waking up from a nap, and I bet he's hungry.
Finally, in the months after my thirty-first birthday, I decided that I did want a family after all. A small family. One child. My husband seemed happy with that idea, although I don't know whether it was because he thought one child was a good idea, or if he thought one would lead to more.
Either way, we decided to get started. Looking back now, I'm embarrassed by my assumption that it would work the way it was supposed to work. I know a lot of infertiles feel this way when they look back at their early days of trying for pregnancy. In our case, it all seems annoyingly cliched. I went for my annual exam one August day and got cleared to start trying. We had "babymaking" sex a couple of times that week, and three weeks later got a positive result on an EPT. Boy, were we glad we'd been using birth control all those years! It's like he just looked at me and I got pregnant!
Ha, ha, ha.
Of course, we immediately told everyone I was pregnant. (Oh, the hubris!) I started buying books about pregnancy and babies. And in among the What to Expect and the Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy, there was this one: Maybe One, by Bill McKibben. Because I was pretty sure that I wanted just one child.
I was halfway through the first chapter when I miscarried for the first time. Then, as I racked up the miscarriages and the years, even one child seemed to slip farther and farther from our grasp. I kept the book, but I couldn't open it again. Doing so seemed to assume that we'd succeed, and that required confidence I didn't have. And the title seemed to mock me. Maybe one. Yeah, maybe if we're lucky.
Well, you know, we finally got lucky. Six years after the first time. Finally, finally. And now here we are, with a six month old baby, with the luxury to discuss whether we should try for another. (There were so many days I never thought I'd get here, that it's still a little embarrassing to even write this "out loud," as it were.)
Right after Alex was born, I thought to myself, "I could do that again." I think I could. If my body would cooperate enough to get a pregnancy started, I think I could make it through another one. Yes, it was the most stressful nine months of my life. Yes, it most likely raised my risk for diabetes. But I'm still alive, aren't I?
A few months later, I was still thinking the same thing. I could do it again. Even after the nightmares of sleep deprivation, the heartbreak of failing at breastfeeding, the frustrations of fussiness. I could do it.
The question is, should I? My husband and I started talking about it a couple of months ago. Really talking about it, seriously. And I was surprised that he seemed to be arguing for -- you guessed it -- just one. I don't know when he started feeling this way, but he definitely seems interested in making Alex our only child.
And after a lot of thinking, talking, and reading, I'm pretty sure I agree. I know it's early yet, it's possible that I'll feel very differently a year from now. But I have some faith in the fact that I made this decision once before, and even back then, it felt right. It feels right now, too. And this time, my husband seems to be on the same page.
So this is what I'm thinking about right now. There's more to say, and I'll probably write more about it here over the coming days. But right now my only child is waking up from a nap, and I bet he's hungry.
4 Comments:
I felt pretty early that I could do it again...in a while. But I knew I wanted another. My husband was not even close to thinking about another. So we ended up starting to try when my son was 2 and 3/4, I was pregnant before his third birthday, and so the nightmare began.
This is neither here nor there. In fact I don't even know why I'm mentioning it. It's just that your mind can change a lot in the first couple of years. In the end my husband actually really wanted to have another, which I think surprised him. He thought he knew.
I do know that only children do great, they have high self esteem, and can get a lot of quality love and attention from both parents. Our lives are easier with one kid. And most only children I speak to didn't mind being onlies. Of course there were times when they did, just like a lot of us have times when we hate our siblings. But on the whole most of them seem just fine with it.
Of course, I still would love to have another, but that's really more about me than about my son.
By
Anonymous, at 3:29 PM
That's huge! No offense, but MAN are you lucky. I'm just starting to think about jumping back in and the water is a bit murky. After my hideous csection infection and my oh so bloated carpal tunnelled arms, I remember thinking - how does anyone do that again? Of course, that's all a not so distant memory!
By
Anonymous, at 4:34 PM
It is great that you and your husband agree on what is best for the size of your family. I had come to the conclusion that if I ever was able to give birth to one child, I would be done at that point, so I understand where you're coming from.
By
Anonymous, at 10:53 AM
I actually don't have any kids by choice, but my best friend has one child and that will be her last.
Know what confounds me? Her kid was barely out of the birth canal when people started hounding her to have another. They hound her almost as much as they hound me. I thought if you had one, people would get off your back.
Ironically, the couples I know with one child often have the best behaved children. (Contrary to the spoiled-child-you're-ruining-your-child's-life harpies.)
I applaud you in doing what you want to do.
By
Anonymous, at 10:44 AM
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