19 October 2007

The Fight

You know how I wrote, mid-summer, about us agreeing to put the discussion of another child on hold until January? How I claimed it gave me some peace, some space to worry about school and other things, how it was kind of a relief? My theory now is that the relief was only that we didn't have to specifically fight about it.

It's been hanging over both of our heads, a feverish obsession, fueling our responses to each other, making things that were never problems into problems. We've been substituting our baby angst for our otherwise reasonable positions on a variety of unrelated questions. It all came spewing out the other day, when I gave my husband an ultimatum (which is probably never a good idea) about another issue. In fairness, it's an issue that has been an intermittently unresolved problem since the beginning of our relationship, so it's not as though it's not a problem that needs some tough solving. But as we discussed the gravity of that situation, all the underlying hurts we've each been carrying from our differences on the issue of another child - or really, another pregnancy - came bubbling up, eroding the moratorium.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. There's no aspect of the topic that doesn't hurt. For us, the prospect of another pregnancy means considering not just what one would hope prudent people would consider, such as, how will we provide for two children compared to one, and, how would another child impact our plans and dreams. We also have to consider the chances of another miscarriage, another stillbirth, more birth defects, having to decide whether to voluntarily terminate. And then there's what any of these possibilities would mean to my mental health, to his mental health, to the health of our relationship, to our living son's mental health, to our ability to maintain our external relationships. And don't forget the gd gd: it would be highly likely, it would accelerate my chances of full-blown diabetes later, it would complicate a pregnancy, and in my husband's mind it accelerates the probability of my demise. Oy. Talking hurts.

We've also had to discuss whether my motivation is the need to prove something (choose one or more of the following: (a) overall womanliness; (b) increased proportion of live births to losses; (c) the fabulousness of Little Z is not a fluke; (d) I can produce enough milk, dammit, I can). In the several months of silence, I've had plenty of time alone in my head to consider this question, and I have to acknowledge that there is still a small place in me that feels humiliation. But it is not the only thing, or even the main thing. I want to have another child because it is how I feel, in every cell of my body.

I'm still not ready to adopt. I want to know another child the way I knew the first boy, the way I knew Z (the proof of my knowing being that he is exactly the way I knew him to be before he was born). I won't lie to you - I love having that connection to Z. I pity my husband because he will never know that link, no matter how great his relationship to Z (which is phenomenal now, but still).

I am also vain enough to love seeing myself in my son, seeing my husband in him, seeing his grandparents and great grandparents in him. I love seeing my first son in him. The pictures we took after delivering our first son look more like Z now than Z's own newborn pictures do. I want to see that connection to my first son and to us and to our families. Adoption is a beautiful thing, but an adopted child will not carry us with him. I still feel like I have the luxury of at least trying to have another biological child.

I also think that Z needs a living sibling, for companionship now, for cross-support in dealing with us when we're old, for relief of the psychological burden of being the boy who lived. I recognize that this reason doesn't contraindicate adoption, but I don't care. Adoption doesn't feel right to me now. If we had another loss, I might feel differently, but I'm not there yet.

Those reasons are just auxiliary reasons, anyway, in the same category as having something to prove. The biggest part of it can't be explained. It just is. It can't be quantified. This aspect gives my desire a halo of mystery and magic, but it also causes the rub between my husband and me, because how does one explain what can't be explained? I guess it's not impossible; consider the last two millennia of Christianity - what has that whole exercise been about if not people being persuaded by the inexplicable? I don't think I should have to resort to wars or crusades or philosophical councils or indoctrination, though, in my interactions with my own husband. But I don't have any other answers, either.

I do take my husband's fears seriously. It would be a special challenge if we had a girl, making room-sharing impossible after a certain age, which would affect our finances, not to mention certain aspects of our great plan, considerably. Another loss would be unquestionably devastating. The whole proposition is risky, risky, and still riskier. But I think that where we are fundamentally different in our outlooks makes a difference in our respective appetites for risk: where my husband worries about where the money would come from, I see that families almost always find a way to make another child okay. He sees where our plan wouldn't work; I see how our plan can be tweaked to make it work. He sees the potential for mental breakdown, while I am open to the roller-coaster ride in the cause of recognizing this dream. And anyway, I think that we're strong enough to weather at least a miscarriage. I also think our relationship, imperfect though it is, is strong enough to weather what might be individually devastating, and we have our history to thank for it.

I should also acknowledge that I am not without any anxiety, and that my husband is not a complete doomsayer; he is at least hopeful enough to have been thinking about names and to discuss them. We've actually agreed on both a boy's name and a girl's name - for a child we cannot even agree to conceive. All the history that has made us stronger has also make us more than a little warped.

The deepest hurt about this question, whatever happens, is that as long as we don't agree, there's a loser. Either I will feel cheated, or he will feel coerced. As long as we maintain our current positions, one of us will not be getting what we want. We're no spring chickens, but we should have long lives still ahead of us. The rest of those lives is a long time to feel that way.

7 comments:

niobe said...

Not that I have a solution, but I think the idea of postponing (if you can) the decision as long as you can is a good idea. Though of course, you'll have to be careful to keep it separate from other issues.

Often, I've found that, over time, the right course to take becomes clearer. Perhaps you or your husband will feel differently about having another child when Z is a little older. I know I feel less pressured if I think -- I don't have to decide this now; I can wait and think about it for awhile.

Rosepetal said...

My viewpoint is slightly different as I don't have a living child yet. For this pregnancy, I have said several times that if it all went wrong AGAIN, this would have to be the last try for a biological child. But I don't think it would be. I think I would try yet again. Don't tell anyone I said that though.

My psych and my OB would have preferred me to wait a little longer between A and this pg for mental recovery. But I feel that my age is burning up the other end of the candle, and this even more so since I had a child with trisomy. I firmly believe that the chance I have to conceive (a healthy child) now will be gone in a few short years and that I don't have time to wait and see how I feel.

By the way all of the things you listed are generally why people who haven't had losses and have retained a certain amount of innocence in obstetrics choose to have children.

I hope you work it out between you soon.

Chris, Renae & Annie said...

I am sorry I have no advice. We are having similar issues though. We starte the cl*mid a few days ago and three days of mind-blowing headaches and my husband is ready to be done with biological children. He even brought up the adoption website today. We have no living children, just two very early term losses. I don't know what we will do but I have that same feeling - every cell of my body tells me I am supposed to carry and birth a child.

Julian's Mom said...

Thank you for being so honest about your feelings surrounding another pregnancy. I have let myself go there VERY BRIEFLY, and I have to say, I still don't think I could do it again. I am in awe and mild shock at all this talk about more babies among the living-baby-after-loss(es) crowd. What's the matter with me that I am 99% sure I don't want another baby? Don't get me wrong, I am very envious when I see little girls with big brothers a year or two apart, but that's me wanting my first baby. I don't want ANOTHER baby, I want that one, and there's no way I'm going to get what I want, sadly.

Roxanne said...

I don't know what to tell you on this one. I have never been one of those women who get that maternal urge. I first got pregnant because it seemed like the practical thing to do since I planned on having a child at some point. Then I got pregnant to prove that I could frigging do it right. Sometimes I certainly think about doing it again, but it's never because I have that FEELING that you describe. So I think that if you have that FEELING, you are probably eventually going to have to give in to it or you will probably regret it. Good luck. You are a braver woman than I!

Sweet Coalminer said...

The need to procreate is biological, and you do not need to explain it.

All the best to you whatever you decide. Two children is lovely, and I am already trying to work Cory up to taking a chance for three. We have the 2-bedroom boy/girl situation now, and I just have to believe that ultimately, we will figure something out.

Enjoy Z, who does look so much like you, and hold him close either way.

You are a wonderful mommy, and Z is a beautiful boy.

Bad Egg said...

Making a major decision like this is a process, and it sounds like you both are giving it the thought and consideration it deserves. I hope you're able to come to a resolution that satisfies both of you.