Things that start with 'F'

Fear. Failure. Fertility. These are "F" words that are seemingly unlinked until you try to conceive and fail. I've been to the place where other people's happiness makes you cry because it drives the stake deeper into your own heart. I've struggled with adapting my expectations of what my life was meant to be. I've stared at HPT's and loathed them. I've stared at the HPT and doubted it's positive result. Yes, doubted it.

My husband and I tried to start our family as we approached our 1st anniversary. Years later we decided it wasn't meant to be. We had tried and cried. We had sought medical help. I, who was once so terrified of needles that I weasled my way out of blood tests for decades, have become numb to the whole ordeal of the needle after months of fertility drug injections. We did an invitro cycle and were both so emotionally, physically and monetarily spent we couldn't afford to do any more. It was a miserable failure.

And so we moved on with life. We gave up the notion of children and decided to spoil ourselves rotten. We grieved then we traveled. We cried then we bought big toys. Then we were surprised. I peed on five, yes count them. . .5, little sticks and all five were positive. We were having the baby we had given up hope of ever having. Today our little surprise miracle baby is a thriving, energetic, bright, amazing nearly 18- month-old boy.

Today we start to think about giving it another try.

Today fear returns. Yes, fear.

I am afraid of returning to the world of failed fertility where each imaged twinge in the abdomen is nothing more than wishful thinking. I'm afraid of spending time each month in tears as I see yet another missed opportunity to celebrate the start of a new life. I'm terrified of the emotional rollercoaster.

Sure, I'm also afraid of success - of managing two youngsters, of being capable of enough love to spread equally between them without short changing one or the other for one tiny minute. I'm afraid of losing what grip of sanity I have left as I plunge deeper into the world of motherhood.

But mostly...mostly I fear failure of fertility.

It crossed my mind at one point that settling with just one child would mean avoiding the pain. It would mean I wouldn't have to spend days wondering and hoping just to be crushed because I made the choice to not be in that position. Then I'd look at the boy and I knew I wasn't done yet. I knew that deep down avoidance would lead to regrets. I knew that even if he was meant to be an only, I'd regret not finding out by trying for the elusive sibling. So try we have begun.

I sit here pondering how I'll feel during this process. Wondering if my protests that it's really ok with me if we never do have that second is just something I say to help prepare myself for a repeat of my past. I honestly do not know. I do know that emotionally and financially we can not afford to take the same road through medical intervention. I know its going to happen on its own or its not going to happen.

Logically I know that it can obviously be done. I have living proof snuggling into my shoulder each evening as he prepares for bed, sighing deeply as he whispers "Ahhh, my Mommy." Logically I know its possible, but fear of failed fertility is a powerful thing.

And so I sit. . .and I fear.