A few unpolished thoughts

So, where to begin.

I didn't go for the bloodwork. I already know the answer. If my dad (and Claire) is right, and it is possible for me to still be pregnant, then great-- I'll grow a baby. I just could not stomach the idea of waiting rooms and paperwork and opening files and signing forms and just UGH. Not to mention having to go back for comparative bloodwork in a week. I just can't. Not today. Today I want to eat smoked salmon and sit on my ass and shop online. More about the shopping later.

In the past 18 hours I've had at least three more requests for me to go see a fertility specialist. I may have finally figured out a way to express how I feel about that. It boils down to my not wanting it badly enough. I feel very strongly about putting my faith in fate's hands. Que sera, sera-- if I'm supposed to have one, then that's fine. If I'm meant to have two, I'll have two. My gut speaks loudly & clearly to me about not wanting to mess with that.

I guess I can see too many benefits to only having one.

This summer my sister made a jokey-eyerolling remark under her breath about "huh, mother of one," ribbing me about how easy I have it (she has three). It was funny, and I laughed, but it stuck with me. She's right. I do have it easy with one. Lately that kid has been rocking my world. She's been so fun that I've fallen desperately, scarily in love with her. We have a couple of inside jokes and when our faces snap towards each other and we laugh at them, in that moment of private recognition, it's like the planets have aligned.

I know this will sound silly (and insulting to many, many people-- sorry), but there seems to be a slightly hipper quality to having one child as opposed to an army. When I thought I was pregnant, I was thinking "oh, now I'm really going to be a mom-- I'll have to get a minivan and maybe a midwestern accent and pull my jeans up to my tits." Whereas one child still seems to be straddling the line between having kids and not having kids. Technically, it is neither. I don't have kids, I have a kid. It's like I still get to keep part of my adult identity. Some of the coolest mothers I know only have one. Not that having more than one automatically makes you not cool! Shut up, I'm just trying to make myself feel better about having a miscarriage and being old and barren.

Of course, I am sad about not having another. I am. This was going to be my Redemption Baby. A pregnancy where I wouldn't be overwhelmed with panic and fear, concerned only with myself. The early months where I would know firsthand what to do, and know that those days would pass. A final chance to try to breastfeed. It would have been my Do-Over Baby, where I would right all the wrongs I committed with Sascha.

And I worry about only having one, in terms of... if something ever happened to Sascha, we wouldn't be parents anymore. End of parenthood. The thought of that is too horrible to bear. Or what if she screwed up her life? Became a crackhead? Or wanted to move to LA to become an actress? (shudder) It would be almost as bad if she grew up and hated me. What are the odds? I mean, she's been pushing me away from her since she was born. It's practically hard-wired in her. I know plenty of first-born daughters who have that relationship with their mothers. Of course, I know a handful of women who were only children who get along with their mothers just fine.

So I think I'm not going to see a specialist. I know this decision will not sit well with so many people, but like I said, I just cannot get my gut behind it. I will continue to try until I turn 40 in 2011. After that, I'm packing it in and moving on with my life as a mother of one.

For now, I'm thinking about raw oysters and martinis. I'm thinking about shopping for school clothes at non-maternity stores. I'm thinking about running the half-marathon again next June. I'm pricing trips to London in February. For now, I'm going to continue enjoying the bits of adult life I'm slowly getting back since having Sascha.