Babies on the brain.

From a very early age, probably as early as I can remember, I've wanted to be a mother. I had this cabbage patch doll named Susie that went everywhere with me. She was my practice baby. I know to the women who don't have that itch, it sounds really hokie and stupid. But for me, it was just a natural feeling that I seemed to just be born with: an inexplicable desire to take care of someone in a way no one else could. I very much wanted to be the kind of mom my mom was and is. 

I flipped flopped on the career I wanted to have. Somedays I wanted to be an architect, and I'd sketch floor plans on graph paper for hours. Then I'd want to be a fashion designer, and I'd draw dresses. Other times I wanted to be a journalist or an author, and I went so far as to create my own fake newspaper. 

But I always wanted to be a mom. It was constant and unshakable. 

When I fell in love with a guy who really wanted to be a dad, we decided we'd have 3 or 4 kids. And we were going to be really amazing parents to our little brood. 

Then we were thrown a curveball when getting pregnant was really difficult. 

I still cry when I think about how incredibly lucky we are to be parents. When my mind goes to the "if there weren't IVF" place, I lose it. I can't even think about the mix of science, prayers and luck that brought Hartley into our lives because it reminds me how easily she could've never been brought into our lives. 

The thought of having 3 or 4 kids hasn't crossed my mind in literally years. 

Once I got pregnant, I decided to be happy with my one miracle baby. Contrary to the grammar and spelling that this blog indicates, I'm a smart girl. My mind was instinctively wise enough to protect my heart. My brain said "you'll love this baby more than anything in the world and you'll be done having kids".

Well, I do love my baby more than anything in the world (ties Brian though). 

But I'm not sure I'm done having kids.

My body seems to think I am. It has returned to its old infertile ways. And recently it occurred to me that just because I have a baby doesn't mean I can pregnant again without help. I'm not saying this in a remotely sad or "woe is me" way. I'm more so stating it as a fact; that I don't think I'm one of those "pregnancy fixed me" infertile women. 

Why can't I get this off my brain lately? Why am I feeling an imaginary clock tick? 

A friend once wrote in her blog that you'll know you're not done having kids if you feel someone is missing from your family. I find that to be such a beautiful thought and probably true for most people. But what about when you don't want to feel like something's missing?

What if you feel guilt over the fact that you have a baby and want another even though so many women don't even get one? What if you feel like you've already won the lottery and you're greedy for going to play again? What if you're afraid to have your heart broken ever again? 

I am so grateful for Hartley. She is an incredible little girl, and she surpasses anything I could've dreamed up. She makes me want to meet another one of our babies. 

Ideally, in a world where I pick everything, I would wait maybe a year or two before we go back to the clinic. And to be frank, I don't really want to be pregnant right now. I didn't even like pregnancy. I'm liking having my body to myself and time with just Hartley and I (Brian too but you know what I mean). But for some reason that annoying clock ticks. 

It doesn't make sense. Our embryos are products of healthy 27 year old Page and 28 year old Brian. They are blissfully frozen in time. But my mind goes to all sorts of places. What if a freak disaster happens and something happens to them? What if I have a hysterectomy and I never get a chance to carry any of them? To ensure those don't happen, I need to use them ASAP. But I don't feel ready yet.

I think about this almost every day. I feel guilt. I feel confusion. I feel blessed. Somedays, I feel a teeny bit sad that I'm going to give pieces of us away, and I cry about it. I also wonder if fertile women feel this conflicted about their family planning. 

I know this is all pretty deep for a Thursday but I felt like this is something I just want to put out there. I had no idea this was how I'd feel after having Hartley. 

I know one thing for sure, my intuition did not fail me. I am meant to be a mother. I consider myself a very good one. And I'm so grateful we never gave up on our dreams of a baby. If and when she has a sibling, I guess time will tell. I know there's no "right" answer to that one. Until then, I'll be rooting for time to move slower so I can savor this sweet time.