It’s Monday morning on a beautiful, sunny day in May in Chicagoland. I’m catching up on blogs and while my nearly two year old son sits cross-legged in front of the tv watching Sesame Street. I’m shopping idly for 2nd birthday party decor of his favorite thing in the world right now – TRUCKS. Big huge construction trucks. Backhoe! Bulldozer! Skid steer! Crane! He loves all things trucks, his little chubby-cheeked face lights up and exclaims “DUMP IT OUT!” “BIG TRUCK!”.
I’m 17 weeks and one day pregnant. I’m pinching myself constantly, feeling like the luckiest bitch that ever walked the earth. Not only do I have a healthy adorable son running around calling me mom, but my stomach and breasts are swelling from the existence of my second child growing and thriving in my ute.
I feel so far from my trying journey lately. I feel disjointed, disconnected from my infertile self. Am I really the same girl who has had 3 cycles of unmonitored clomid, 3 cycles of clomid / IUI, 3 cycles of injectible / IUI, all with zero live babies to show for it? Am I really the girl who spent an evening at the ER and miscarried a precious, loved, tiny baby in the bathroom just before the ultrasound? Am I really the same girl who walked around for months afraid that an ectopic pregnancy would rupture? Do I get to claim my past still, or does my conceived without assistance 2 year old and my child growing in my uterus now after my first IVF cycle negate this history of loss and infertility? Does it all matter anymore?
I want to believe that I can forget about it. I want to believe that I can leave it all behind, that this struggle is behind us because I feel that’s what I need to do to regain some trust in my body. I need to trust my body to fight for a vaginal birth, I need to believe that it can do it.
But to do that, I feel like I have to act like infertility, loss, and the not so great labor and c-section experience were all no big deal. That they happened, yes, but it doesn’t mean that I’m broken or my body is less than.
Though it’s felt that way for so long. That’s why this birth thing is so friggin hard for me – it brings up every shred of doubt I have in my body. It did nothing last time to prepare for a birthing baby (I had zero contractions really before my induction at 39 w and an over 9 pound fetus in my uterus) – whether that’s because I was induced and the bod wasn’t ready, or things aren’t going to work, or Leopold was too big, I’ll never know. But I know that something didn’t work, though induction worked for most of my friends, okay – nearly ALL of them – but the ones who didn’t go into labor on their own.
Anyway, I just don’t know how to rationalize this all – to separate the failures of my reproductive system to get and stay pregnant with failing to give birth the way women have done for the entire existence of humanity and believing that somehow my body will get its act together and go into labor this time.
I simultaneously want to fight like hell for the birth I want which I feel necessitates a sort of denial of my past – and surrender to the fact that I have no control and I’ll probably end up with a c-section. It’s hard, complicated, emotional shit.
It’s not that I feel I don’t deserve to have the birth I want – because – damn, I DO, but I have such a hard time finding that trust in my body that I need to believe that things will go the way they should. It’s like any relationship, once that trust is gone it is hard, if not impossible, get it back.