The beginning of the end: The cycle before ivf begins

Remembering when I used to cry as I watched my son sleep.  Realizing he was growing and changing in front of my eyes, I would mourn the loss of my delicate newborn to the chubby 3 month old, then lose my laughing 6 month old to an inquisitive 9 month old.

Today my son is 5 and some odd months. He wears size 7 jeans that have holes in the knees and just barely reach his ankles. He is impatient and smart, tough and silly,  demanding and cute, loving, strong, kind and fun.  Today as I listen to him trying to make his dad laugh when he should be going to sleep, I think about the new thing I will learn about him or watch him discover tomorrow.  I can't wait!

This is the status I posted on Facebook yesterday evening. 

This week I had planned to write about the start of our journey in trying to conceive a sibling for my son.  Instead I am enjoying the last month before starting ivf.  This cycle I don't have to take pills or pee on sticks or in cups multiple times a day.  I don't have to give myself shots or wonder if my mood is my own or a side effect of the medicine.

It is the end of March, almost Easter.  It has been unusually sunny and dry.  It feels like the start of a new beginning.  I don't know if this beginning is the start of a new baby or if it is the start of what I have discovered in these last few weeks.  I have found a true contentment with our family as it is.  Just the three of us.

I'm looking forward to discovering what is going to happen.  I know the next few months are going to be a hard scrabble.  My ivf protocol involves lots of shots and exams, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be swimming in a cloudy sea of hormones.  But in comparison to the last three years, it will be over quickly.  I will finally be able to emerge from the grey skies of uncertainty and dwindling hope.  I will get to live under the clear blue skies of spring, smelling the emerging blossoms and enjoying my life as it is, however that may manifest.

This is the calm before the storm, and though I had planned to focus on the beginning of this struggle this week, where it all started, I can't help but focus on the end.  We're almost there and I can't wait!

I promise to force myself to continue the story next post.

And the thing about babies...

Babies smell so sweet and their warm, pliable bodies fit so snugly against our own.  My son's slobbery kisses and gummy smiles kept me going through tough times at work and at home.  I loved for the rare occasion when he would fall asleep in my arms.  Along with those fluffy pink clouds at sunrise came the suffocating grey fog brought on by lack of sleep, the transformation, body and mind, into a baby feeding/nurturing/cleaning machine, and the soul crushing guilt of not enjoying every second of this precious life. 

So, do I want to go through that again?  Do I want to experience the other worldliness of bringing home a tiny creature, completely dependant on me?  The panic moments after a soothing bed time bath (did I get his belly button too wet? Are his lips a little blue, was the water too cold?  Is the rash because I didn't buy the expensive organic baby wash?), the unexpected moment that feels like forever as I catch his fathomless hazy gaze (am I seeing my own eyes or his father's?).  Do I really want to experience that utter joy and complete terror a second time?

Well, my actions for the last three years would say I do want to do it again (better this time, of course). 

As you may know, but probably don't, my husband and I have been trying to have a second child.  We've been trying (on and off and on again) for the last three years. 

As I write this, it's the day after Valentine's Day 2013.  This time last year we were celebrating the beginning of a new family member.  We were finally at the end of the road.  Our family was complete.  She was the twinkle in her baba's eye, the rose in her brothers cheeks, and the extra inch in my waistband.  This time last year, after I read my son his bedtime ritual books, we would peer through the inky black, our hair entangled, at glowing images of what a developing human looks like when just the size of a grain of rice. We would whisper about our dreams of a little sister who swam in the ocean with the mermaid princes and princesses. 

This time this year, the mermaid princess has been tossed aside for superheroes dressed all in black.  This time this year, we don't have a new family member, but a hole in each of our hearts.  This time this year, the doctors say the next turn in the road is ivf.  This time this year, we are making some big decisions and sorting out a lot of deeply held beliefs about ourselves and our assumptions about what would, should, could happen.

Yes, we want a baby and we've already paid a steep price to achieve our desire.  Now we are deciding if we are willing or able to pay more.

So, I restart this blog to chronicle our process, both as a tool to sort through our journey in progress and a place to share with other struggling families our heart and our story.

The next post will be about how we got to teeter at this precipice.