Never in a million years would I think that my children would have many years between them. The original plan when we heard we were expecting for the first time was to have three children all two to three years apart. My son will be four-years-old in the fall and fertilization seems to be alluding me.
I’m a healthy 26-year-old female, so why am I having a hard time getting pregnant? I know that it can take up to a year…. blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t planning on the first one, it just happened; but now that I am actually conscious of when I ovulate and I really want another child, nothing, NADA. We are going on month five of trying without any success.
I broke down and cried the other day when yet another old friend of mine revealed to the Facebook masses that she was expecting #2, which would be her second child in a three year period. My husband tried to comfort me by pointing out that our lives will be what they will be–if we can’t get pregnant then we can adopt. Then I got hysterical. My sweet, loving husband has been really wanting another child as well, and it actually occurred to him that something could be wrong with us–so much so that he is considering our options. I thought about getting checked out by a doctor, but it never–even for a second–occurred to me that for some reason, I may not be able to bear more children.
Poor hubby. While I cried profusely, he realized what he had done and desperately attempted to fix his blunder. Once I had rid myself of all the moisture in my body, I had to find a way to relax a little. The truth is that we will have the family we want one way or another, whether it be biologically ours or not. It will break my heart not to be able to experience carrying a child inside of me again, but I will love–fiercely love–whatever children I am lucky enough to have.
For now, we will just have to keep in trying. Poor hubby. He has it rough.