The first time around, we were willing to empty savings accounts and 401Ks. We were willing to go into debt, to let go of my DNA, to travel across states, to get a baby. Because we had no baby. Now that we have one, and she is my world, the desperation is less intense. But we want a second one, which makes me feel greedy and ungrateful, but we do, and for that we are less willing to go to great lengths, and that is because we have one. When I say we, I mean my husband and I, but he is less willing than I am. I brought up donor embryos last week to be met with a swift “no.” It would take the pressure off of me to perform. I already have a baby from my own DNA and yet have already made peace with having a baby with someone else’s DNA so it seems perfect. But no.
So the pressure is on my eggs again, and I know I’m too heavy to quality for IVF at my clinic, and my doctor has left, and I don’t know if a new doctor would give me a hard time about my weight instead of letting us attempt an IUI or medicated cycle, so I am afraid to even start that process again. And anyway, I want to try on our own again first, especially since that’s the only thing that’s ever worked for us.
Inside I am a mix of emotions. Desperation to be pregnant again and yet also knowing that I do have my baby and ultimately, she is enough for me. Guilt for wanting a second when I already have one. Pressure to get going and have a baby again soon since I will be 37 this year, I want them to be close in age, and it takes me so long to get a good egg. Fear of miscarriage. Fear of her growing up “alone.” Wishing we could just be done.
For me, the bitterness of recurrent loss hasn’t faded much, just a little. I know that a lot of people can’t relate to me since I’ve had a baby now, but I still understand the primary infertility pain. And I’m here for it. I see you, I support you, I get you. I won’t forget what it’s like.