After reading many posts this morning about the ache we feel for more babies, I decided it was time to get up for the day (we had a horrid night last night). I dragged my tired ass into the bathroom to “put my eyes in” and brush my teeth. I’m neurotic about plaque build-up so opened my cabinet to find my little plaque pick.
There are subtle reminders everywhere in our house that we hope, long, for a third baby. The BFPs under my sink, the swings we keep (even though our kids have never liked them, really), the ointments that don’t work for Bryson but could for another baby, the leftover newborn (and sizes 1, 2, and 3) diapers. They’re everywhere, and I accept it because I KNOW they’re there.
But in my top bathroom cabinet, the one I share with B… well… I didn’t know they were there too. Seeing it, I wondered, “why is that back here? Oh yeah.” And I pushed it aside, leaving it where it is, hoping it sees the light of day again at the end of the year.
Hope, pain, excitement, an eye roll, and the ache. Oh, the ache of not knowing if our family is complete or not is just killing me. I’d transfer those five embryos tomorrow if the timing wasn’t all wrong, just to know our fate. Just to know what my family is going to look like. Just to put the hope and uncertainty behind me, so that I can move on with whichever flavor of “the ache” is going to accompany me through the next phase of my life. Will I ache for the third baby that never was, or will I ache for babyhood in general while gazing at three beautiful children?
I just don’t know.
(Do you see it?)