Okay, so I didn't write yesterday, or the day before, but gimme a break, I'm trying here. I just didn't have anything interesting to talk about. There is a lot I could have talked about, but I didn't want to bore people with more musing from my whole ectopic pregnancy/surgery/disability experience. Perhaps if I DID talk about it, and talk about my feelings and all that good crap, more people would read and care. People really seem to like the blogs from people who really let out their feelings (like Maggie does really well). I just have this thing where I tend to be a private person and have a hard time expressing my feelings and all that good crap. But I guess I could give it a try.
So anyways, what am I thinking about now? The Tuesday before last my youngest, Alexia, turned 5 freaking years old. 5 years! She's going to kindergarten this fall. I know, I'm having that my-baby-is-growing-up freak out. Problem is, I didn't freak out when my older daughter turned 5, but Alexia was still young at the time so I knew I had one in reserves. Pretty bad attitude, eh?
I never thought Alexia would be my last. The decision to have her was rather hasty, and in the back of my mind I always thought there would be another opportunity. An opportunity to be pregnant and enjoy it, to have a small baby, more first words and first steps, and all that good stuff that comes and goes way too quickly. I just didn't realize that my hubby didn't have the same thoughts. I left it alone for a couple years before having the first serious discussion. Then I left it alone another year before asking again. Then, last December we were at a football game, and there was this man there with his infant daughter. Alex and I had both had jumbo beers and were in a good mood, and I jokingly asked him (again) about the third kid thing. That was when I noticed a shift in how he felt. Even though he didn't tell me yes right then, I could tell that I had, essentially, "won" the battle, 4.5 years after Alexia!
We started trying right away and I got pregnant mid-February. I wound up losing the baby less than a week after I found out I was pregnant. I made a reference in a post I wrote to a "personal issue" I wasn't going to talk about right then, but might eventually. Well, eventually is now. I was disappointed but tried not to worry about it too much. After all there was nothing I could do, and I know my body doesn't have a problem, so the miscarriage was probably for a very good reason, like genetic disability. I would rather have a healthy baby.
Fast forward another two months to April. I find out I'm pregnant again. This time I felt so much better about it (the last time I had warning signs from when I first found out I was pregnant, this time all were gone). We told approx. half the family, waiting for the right opportunity to tell the other half. Unfortunantly, that "opportunity" came when I found out the pregnancy was ectopic and had to have emergency surgery. It's hard to explain, but if I was going to have a miscarriage, I felt this was the way to do it. Instead of suffering alone where no one even knew I was pregnant, this time I went out with flair! Somehow it made the pregnancy feel more real. I guess what it really feels like is *not my fault*. I know the first miscarriage was not my fault, but it still made me question my inadequacies. At least this time I knew I had a real growing baby inside of me, even if did happen to be in the wrong place.
So Alexia turned 5, and I'm surprised at how upset I feel. I was *supposed* to feel happy. I was *supposed* to be pregnant. Alexia is not *supposed* to be my last. I have to wonder though, had I known she would be my last, would I have done anything differently?
I hope I get another chance to find out.
I'll leave you with some pictures of Alexia, from newborn to present: