Today is a good day for truths, nonfictional tales and acknowledgement of things I’d rather not deal with.
I have a brain tumor. Yeah, yeah, me and a bunch of other people. Mine is in such a place that hormonally it is difficult for me to conceive. Coupled with mysterious infections in my uterus as a youth, having babies is not a natural thing for me to do. Even if I manage to, another unrelated disease can take portions of my sight, forever.
Even with all this, on top of my miracle pregnancy where I lost a lot of weight, threw up everyday (seriously), and my inability to give my son enough room in the womb so his head wasn’t flat in the back (plagiocephaly, which was severe enough he needed a helmet to round out his head and prevent possible mental difficulties later on); I wanted to have another baby.
We talked about having two children before we were married. Two so they had a friend, family to grow up with. Two, a boy and hopefully a girl. That was the plan.
Then of course I stopped having periods and ovulating on my own and that put a crimp on things. Even then, with medicine to help my hormones return to normal (so I could lose some weight and be hormonally healthy) I somehow, against the odds, got pregnant while on birth control no less (cause we were paranoid people I took birth control just in case everything magically started to work again. Which it obviously did so we had a good plan in theory).
My son didn’t have high odds of making it through the first trimester, truth be told, and the doctors brought up the possibility of abortion because he or I could have died.
And yet, I knew I was going to have that baby. I had possibly the most faith I had ever had in my life; when I decided God was going to make everything work out perfectly so I could have that little boy.
I did. And he is beautiful. I wish he would consistently pee in the toilet, but he is goofy or not, mine!
He is now in the stage where they are talking about reading. Being able to read by 5 years of age is apparently normal. Personally I couldn’t read until 2nd grade. Then I lit up the reading charts, I’m telling you. However, this is how the world works now. So this summer, 2018, CDubs will need to be enrolled for the fall of 2018 in a PRE SCHOOL. I swear he was a baby last week. Did I mention he’s not peeing in the toilet all the time?
I mean school?!
Which then reminded me, if we want to have another baby, it would have to be late June or July 2018 that I would need to conceive. They wouldn’t be too far apart in age, I could take 4 months off without a severe pay cut… it would be perfect.
We’ve talked about this. We’ve planned out CDubs being in school and then using the same childcare credit to put baby 2 in daycare. We talked about “trying until we get a girl,” to which I said I was NOT having 3 kids.
Then I had this totally out of the blue period in June. A total, WTF, how is this possible, maybe I need the hospital (his words, not mine) blue moon of a period.
My mind started thinking more about baby two. I mean sporadic ovulation, could be a sign!
No, I hadn’t picked out a new bedding set or a crib. No baby names had been picked out for this imaginary child. In fact, CDubs’s crib is leaning up against a cabinet as I type this (waiting to go up into the attic). We are putting away baby things, not taking them out.
I just let myself think about a baby. About CDubs being a big brother. About maybe a bigger place to live. Moving somewhere and all of that.
Not to mention, even though I was not enraptured every second of my pregnancy I actually enjoyed a lot of it. I used to lay in bed imaging the baby to be, praying with my hands resting on my stomach as he kicked, hoping for a healthy son.
Can you feel the BUT coming? Cause I didn’t.
We (Ry and I) have been talking about money, things we need, lifestyle, family etc. a lot lately. I’m trying to tithe. I’m trying to start clogging in the fall (which I would give up in an instant if needed), CDubs is starting soccer. Ry starts a second job Sept. 11. Yet, with all sorts of sacrifices…
We cannot make the numbers work.
We cannot afford to have another child.
And I know. I know I have the most beautiful, precious, amazing, goofy, intelligent, imaginative little boy and I am, I AM blessed.
But I had in my mind for almost 7 or 8 years that we would have two. I thought I could defeat ANY medical obstacle. I could power through. I could loose a little more vision, my tumor did not kill me last time so maybe it’s a cyst or just a baby tumor that enjoys staying small. I’ve got a higher power on my side after all!
I never imagined having a second baby would bankrupt us. That obstacle never crossed my mind.
By the time we pay off surgeries, other medical expenses, personal loans (me), loans in collections (him), I would be going into my 40’s. (I am not even counting my school loans or the rest of Ry’s.) CDubs would be going into his teens. Even paying off half of these things somehow magically in the next year wouldn’t help.
We simply do not make enough. We cannot sustain enough, even if we gave up all the things we do for fun, which barely equals $100 a month. We already live simply.
It would be horribly irresponsible to bring a child into the world we couldn’t support.
Also, I had some unintentional medical help last time (side effect of my tumor medicine was increased fertility and obviously I had a rare instance when an egg decided to fire), and it’s plain even if we wanted a child I would need some help from an endocrinologist. That’s money.
So, today, it was decided that Baby Gillespie number two is not going to happen. I know it’s stupid but I cried in private, just a little. Not enough to be a ninny but enough to start mourning a dream, a wish, a little person I’ll never get to meet. Okay maybe more than a little bit of tears. Damn.