Welcome to my breakdown.

It’s becoming more and more apparent that I’m not really close to accepting (declaring?) the end of our IF journey. Getting ready for this sale is like tearing my heart out with my bare hands. No, let me amend that, it’s like tearing my heart out piece by piece and then pinning little price tags to each piece. This isn’t the regular ‘stuff with memories’ pangs. This is raging, screaming non-acceptance.

I don’t want to not have a use for a mobile or those cute little onesies. I’m not ready to give up the 3-6mos jean jacket. This is a breakdown over every diapershirt I touch. Yes I want the space, but I want to be clearing out other crap making room for somebody else to be using this stuff. This isn’t going to be a coherent or long post, as I still have hours and hours of sorting ahead of me, but it’s becoming glaringly clear that I still have some kind of hope  that we’re not going to be a one-child family.  Because I still have HOPE. And hope is a bastard.

I’m supposed to be getting ready for a December 29th due date right now. With enough effort, and money and hormones and needles I can get pregnant. With a huge amount of hope and more hormones and needles I can even maintain the pregnancy. Yes our latest miscarriage broke our hearts, but it also made me think another child was possible. If I had tried again and not gotten pregnant I think it would have been more final. Instead I get that ‘oh we were so close’ feeling and I don’t know which would break my heart less,  trying and failing or not trying at all.

The problem is that I’m old. Our chances of successful pregnancy are 20%. It’s also that I’m sensible, and hubby that is a worrier. He worried so much through our last pregnancy that he didn’t even tell his co-workers I was pregnant until he had to leave because I was admitted for delivery (true story). And that time we were close but not at or over the dreaded 40 mark. Now we are (did I mention I’m old?). Our chances go down, our risks go up.

I’m not the only one that hopes we’re not a one-child family. V asks about her ‘sister’ on a daily basis. Most of the friends she has at preschool have siblings. This past winter was an especially fertile one so there are many new siblings and newly minted (and very proud) big brothers and sisters. She loves visiting the nursery and wants to know when her very own ‘little’ will be going to school with her.  We were looking at her 0-3mos pictures at breakfast yesterday and she asked when she was going to have her own brother/sister (yes that’s what she said – or maybe brothersister.) There’s really nothing I can say to her.

Infertility sucks.

Miscarriage sucks.

Getting old sucks.

House cleaning sucks.

Stress sucks.