Lying in the bed, in the middle of the night, I realized I am terrified of getting pregnant.
A number of the baby lost mamas who blog and whose babies died in the last year are pregnant again. I am happy for them. I wish them peace as they negotiate the immense fear of pregnancy after loss. I look forward to the news of their rainbow babies being born, healthy, perfect…alive.
I do not want to be one of them. Not yet.
First, I think my knees, ankles and feet would up and quit if I put on another twenty or thirty pounds. I am not physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually ready to attempt to bring another child into the world. It might be different if I didn’t already have a live child. Maybe.
All I have to do is think about the blood. I could have died.
At my six week follow up to the surgery, the doctor looked at me and said, give yourself a year, then decide.
Wise man.
I am not ready. Getting pregnant, adopting, having an only child – all of these thoughts make me ache.
I am not ready to decide.
It’s a marathon, not a sprint. You don’t have to decide now. It’s a monumental decision to make and chances are you’ll change your mind 5, 10, 100 times before settling on what you really want. Squeezing your hand and sending you smiles. I’m thinking of you.
People often ask me why there are 7 1/2 years between my two children. If it takes more than a year, it’s okay, we all need as much time to decide as is comfortable for us.