We've been trying for our second baby unofficially since October and officially since January. It's to that point where it seems like everyone around me is pregnant -- have you ever been there? The pregnant women are revealing themselves in droves and embarrassingly enough, it hurts! I'm not saying that the pregnant women are out to get me, because, duh, the world does not revolve around me. But still, each new picture and each new announcement, they all stings much like the tooth of a raptor. ...Okay, maybe not THAT much, but it's still somewhere in the hefty stomach drop/gut punch /heart-crack range. Brightside: it's easier for me this time around, the trying. The months of trying before we conceived Roman (and after my miscarriage) were really hard on me. Mentally. Emotionally. All that. At least this time around I have my boy to steal kisses from!
Yesterday Last Week Two weeks ago (I've been busy!), with Dustin at Matt & Natty's house for the evening and Roman at camp Grandma, I had a "me" night. Lots of cleaning. Chinese food. I watched two movies that I used to watch as a teenager and then decided to watch What to Expect When You're Expecting. Some of it was funny. Dang funny! Some of it was hard on my heart and I cried my fair share of both sad and happy tears. What has really been on my mind since watching was the character that suffered from infertility. I'm not saying that my eight months of failed conception make me a sufferer of infertility, doing so would make me feel as if I might be offending those ladies that truly suffer from such, but... man. I'm so used to getting exactly what I want (I know, that sounds horrible) and this time, no amount of wishes or tears have been able to procure a procreation.
Speaking of crying, did you know that I cry, like, all the time? If I only cry once on any given day, it's a rare thing. I usually find my myself happy sobbing into my hamburger at dinner as we watch The Office. When a man cries on a t.v.show or a movie? I lose it. Men are usually strong and tough, and to see a guy in such a tender (even if it IS fake) moment, I just can't control myself. Commercials make me cry, too. One of my all-time favorite movie, Dan in Real Life, breaks my heart a thousand times over, but in the sweetest way. I often times find myself questioning just how much I'm going to cry when I get pregnant again if I cry this much while empty womb-ed. And then that brings me back to my empty womb and I cry a tiny tear for my heart that longs for this body to get pregnant.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm meant to have another baby. Is my body not strong enough? If that's the case, it sure would be nice to know so that I could move on and stop hoping so much. Every month I get my hopes up even though my body never feels pregnant. Maybe it's just a symptomless early pregnancy! Maybe it will be completely different from when I was carrying Roman! Maybe this month is different! Hope. Hoping. Hoper. That's me. But the hope is starting to die. I'm starting to let go of the notion that I'll be able to carry another baby. There are no more ovulation tests for me. I try and keep the symptom watch to a minimum. I don't even cry when I get my period anymore. I just feel kind of... numb. I'm not expecting to get pregnant. My body is failing me and in a small way and find myself getting so angry and disappointed at my cells, my being, but then i just go numb again. Maybe my boy is meant to be an only child. The thought of that breaks my heart a little, though. My sweet, amazing boy. I'd so love to make him the Older Brother. Get him one of those little shirts with a cheesy spiel pertaining to the new baby in my womb. Make him the big brother.
Roman is growing so fast. The thought of never having to change another diaper makes me want to keep Roman in diapers for a while. I love cleaning him up -- his little puff buns in his diaper. A few days ago I put all of the bottle parts away -- my baby doesn't use a bottle anymore. Ugh. Like a knife to the heart! I may or may not have cried.
These past nine months have blessed me, though, in their own way. I'm a little bit more tender with Roman. Every month that we find out that I'm not pregnant, I end up loving him just a little bit more that I thought possible. I don't know how I keep coming up with extra love, but it just sprouts up like a Spring flower. Sometimes I look at him and have to pause because the smile on his face takes my breath away and I try to catalogue that moment as food for my heart as he grows older. He is also the perfect weight to sit on my belly for a book read... the pressure helps with the monthly hurt and pair that with a heating pad on my back and I'm much more comfortable. It's almost as if HE knows that Mommy's having a tough time, too. He's a lot more gentle with me and sits still just a tad bit longer than normal. Gives me a few extra kisses. Dustin. Oh my Dustin. He is my hero during that time. I mean, he's always my hero, but the way he takes over and lets me completely curl up on the couch/bed/floor while I'm in pain, well, let's just say that I don't know if I could do it without him. We're a team. A family team. The three of us.
Despite the negative banter that usually goes on in my head, I sometimes stick up for myself, too. I spend so much time beating myself up over things that I have very little control over, and I often find a little voice saying, "Shut up, woman!" When I get angry at my body for not preforming, not creating, the voice in my head pipes in and talks about just how awesome and magnificent my bag of bones is. I've been pumped full of toxic drugs. Exposed to buckets of radiation. Had limbs and organs removed. I've had my damn digestive system cut up and then pasted back together and yet I still function.
My body survived having a whole lung cut out of it. Do you know how many blood vessels are connected to your lungs? How many bones are in the way that have to be broken to fetch my air-bag? How many stitches, both internally and externally, are given? Lots. A butt-load. Sprinkle a little asthma on top of that, too,a nd it's craz-mazing that I'm still a breather!
I am missing a leg. A damn leg! After they initial attempt to preform a limb-salvage on my 11-year old limb, it was decided that an amputation was best for me. Top that off with my re-amputation a year ago and holy cow, I am able to walk around. I put one real foot in front of one fake foot and just... walk. Just keep swimmin'.
My hair, the strands that completely fell out on two separate occasions, they keeps growing.I'm trying to grow them out now. I want Practical Magic hair. Long.
My kidneys, my precious kidneys that helped me remove toxins from my blood (and lord KNOWS that chemo is chock full o' toxins). They are a little beat up, but they still work. They keep me going. Even if lately they've been a little worse than before, they still filter. I still pee. Hooray!
And each time, despite the severity of the surgery or event or medicine, my body somehow knew just how to weave its self back together. Top re-build. To keep hoping. And, on top of all this, I GREW A DANG HUMAN BEING. I grew my boy. A kid that has two feet even though I only have one. A kid that has two lungs and breathes and is magnificent. That has a great digestive system and poops like a champ. A boy that now drinks from cup and straws and needs not a bottle.
My body kind of kicks ass.
I feel so selfish asking when so many would kill for just one, but... come on body. Just a little more? Just a healthy little guy or gal and a healthy Momma, too. I promise to treat you well.
