I’m surrounded by pregnancy. Either mothers due any minute or couples trying for second babies. Beautiful bumps and talk of natural labours. Knowing that hearing that others are finally pregnant will fill me with joy for them, but also crush me. It’ll never be me again.
My husband and I never wanted just the one child. We always wanted siblings that would play together. I imagined a huge brood, piles of washing, shoes all lined up in the hallway, bunk beds. I still have the piles of washing (I have somewhat of an Ebay addiction), but I’ll have to pass on the other things. We’ve decided we can’t do it again. Not the traumatic labour, the post natal depression, the breastfeeding issues. My husband has almost found this more difficult that I have. It was him that told me that he didn’t want to have any more children. My heart aches for more at times, for the dream that I’ve had since I was small. But then my head remembers. And I know I can’t do it again.
I’m always met with comments of ‘the chance of hemorrhage is so small’, ‘you’ll know more about breast feeding next time around’ and ‘the health care professionals will be better prepared for depression, you’ll know what to look for and get help sooner’. I know that these things are true. Serious post partum hemorrhage is rare, although my chances are increased now that I’ve already had one. I *do* know lots more about breast feeding. But I thought i knew enough the first time around, then the haze of just giving birth kicked in, and bossy nurses seemed to know best, and the tongue tie…. I know how it could so easily go wrong. I could have anti depressants waiting, my GP on speed dial. But there’s nothing that can stop it happening to begin with. The symptoms were almost immediate last time. I don’t want to feel that way for even a moment.
I feel very sorry for myself. I’ll never carry a baby again. Never feel the kicks, dress a bump, hang tiny little babygrows on the line. I moaned while I was pregnant, about stiff fingers and fat ankles, about reflux and Gaviscon and my ginormous arse. I tried with all my heart to embrace it, to relish in the miracle growing inside of me, but it is bloody hard work, growing a life. Now I’m viewing it from the other side, with my rose tinted specs on, it seems like the worlds most beautiful journey once again. I’m devastated, I took it for granted. If I’d have known it’d be my only pregnancy I’d have done things differently. I’d have taken more photos, maybe had a 4D scan, painted my bump. I never even drew a silly face on it. I’m sad.