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Planning

10.05.09 | faith | 9 Comments

My mother says that every time you have a miscarriage you rethink things. She should know; she had three. I’ve only had two, and my second is just about over. In eleven years, five pregnancies and three children, I always thought that I had my fertility pretty well in hand. I got pregnant within a few months of wanting to be pregnant each time, and I never got pregnant accidentally, despite rather (I think now) scattershot birth control.

I thought I was in control. That my kids were coming, more or less, as I wanted them too.

Now I wonder. Mr. Bennet has a colleague with twelve children. I’ve never wanted or thought I could handle (emotionally, physically, mentally) that many kids, but I thought it was my choosing that kept our numbers down. I can choose whether to have sex or not, after all: I can choose to try to conceive, and I can choose to try not to.

But I think now I really wasn’t in charge all along. I think even if I had been trying to fill a preconceived quota, my body (my life) wasn’t actually made that way.

My sister can’t have any more than three kids right now because she no longer has a husband. My friend can’t ever have any more than three because she needed an emergency hysterectomy. My sister-in-law is hoping (still, faithfully) for a first.

Sometimes I feel panicky because my life isn’t shaping up as I once thought it would. That April birthday I thought would work so well, is not going to happen. And now I think I don’t know if there is another birthday to add to our family ever. It’s not that I’m ambivalent about whether we will try or not again, but that I feel more open to Someone else making the decision, having the final say.

Because I think that Someone else had the final say all along, I just didn’t realize it.

totally unrelated, but fun to read

9 Comments


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