Content?  Exploring the unknown??

I’ve had an odd an unknown feeling following me around the last several weeks.  I think it’s something along the lines of contentedness.   I’m not longing or searching for too much more right, and that is unfamiliar territory.  Where is the unsettled need that often erupts on the topic of children?  What has happened?  It feels significant enough to write again. 

                For the two of you who follow my blog and the other five of your who read and it and know me, this part won’t be anything new.  In my late teens and early twenties I was ambivalent about wanting kids.  Then, I got engaged, got pregnant and had a miscarriage.  We got married  and started striving for what I didn’t have.  Eventually, after two miscarriages, I carried a beautiful red headed baby named David to term.  And he has been a blessing.  And then we wanted another.  And I had another miscarriage.  And then got pregnant with the beautiful Cecelia.  She is now two and a half.

                Over the past year we have the fever again.    And we’ve been successful in trying.  I got pregnant in early February, only to learn early about its lack of viability.  The next month I had a slight different period, and found out I was pregnant again, and had another early loss.  Then we tried a few more months with disappointment. 

                And all of the sudden I feel content and lost the fever.   This is a whole new feeling for me.  I think it’s a good feeling.  I count my stats and see I’m not successful.  I’ve now had seven pregnancies with two children to show.  I’m not craving for once but enjoying what I have.  So, why the pang of guilt?  There is a part of me that has been trying to overcome the sadness and anger associated with so many failed pregnancies.  There is also me knowing that I’ve always wanted a four child family.  And this shift is taking me by surprise.  I would like more children, but I don’t about wanting them right now.  But, I’m not young.   Having a child for us takes years.  So the struggle emerges:  do I be content with now or not?  What if I decide not to push the issue and in 10 years I hate the choice I made.  And always a fear for me:  what if something happens to my kids?  I lived this and I want my kids to have siblings to help them steer through the world.  Adulthood isn’t easy.  Decisions are big.

                And I’m also aware of the nagging part of me that asks about m selfishness.  I’ve learned the joy of vacations lately.  I see the ease of two kids in a good routine right on that horizon.  I wonder if I can do it again, with my more demanding job, make enough milk every day to avoid formula, and make the great homemade food on the weekend again.   This is mainly bathed in fear, which I don’t like to tolerate.  I know at any given time I will be given the grace that I need.   Anticipation generally creates much more anxiety than the moment. 

                This is an odd writing for me because it’s not a looking back, oh see how much I learned, and see what works out, kind of reflection.  This is a shit in the middle of it, fuck, big decisions, where do I go next kind of reflection.  And it is blathering and lacking direction, which may be all together appropriate.  I have often stated that my reproductive issues have taught me that I’m not in charge.  Perhaps I need that refresher course.