I am a planner. It helps me feel more relaxed when things are done ahead of time. I am a completely Type A person--a "gold" according to the book that I read that classifies people as certain colors. When we travel, I like to have the house generally clean and neat before we go because otherwise, I get stressed again the minute I walk through the door and see the house. I almost always make a packing list for traveling, for myself, for the kids, and for the general family stuff that needs to come. One time, I tried making a list for Jason. I asked him what he wanted on it. "Clothes" was his only input. I gave up on making lists for Jason. But there's usually a to-do list somewhere in my near vicinity. I just feel more organized when I know what needs to be done and how it's going to go.
Recently, Jason and I were talking about something to do with our family and I said, referring to my pregnancy, "Since I won't be doing THIS again..." He looked really surprised and said "Isn't that kind of ungrateful?" It took me a minute but I figured out that what I was saying and what he was hearing were different.
I've wanted to give birth to another baby since...oh, since Patrick was born. We'd already struggled to get pregnant with him and knew that adoption was in our future already at that time, but I really felt a pull to have another biologically. Five years of recurring infertility later, we finally managed to get to this point with the help of some talented doctors and many dollars.
I feel like I've spent many of those years hoping for this. Praying for it at times. Begging for it at others. Beyond depressed about it at many others. To have finally achieved this point--it is a wish come true. But I knew then, and know beyond a certainty now, that this is it. I'm not willing to put our family or my body through these treatments again.
When I said "I'm not doing this again," what I meant was that I've been fortunate enough to have that wish answered. For years now, my desire has been to have one more biologically and then adopt our last one. If I hadn't gotten pregnant when I did, there was going to be one more chance (by our choice, not medically). Just one. And if that hadn't worked, we were both ready to move on.
But it did happen. Somehow we hit the lottery and I'm now 24 weeks pregnant (into the realm of viability, says my cynical, infertile mind that still can't wrap around the idea that I'm really getting to do this again). And my planning nature is feeling more at peace now than it has in years. Infertility is impossible to plan. You can plan when to do cycles, but you can't plan the outcome. You can't plan your body's reactions to the medications--will they make you sleepy or bitchy or achy or all of the above at one time? You can't plan beyond that one cycle really, because there's always the hope that one will be the key. You can't plan for your own emotional response to the cycle and its outcome. There is no planning that happens.
After several years of not being sure how our third and fourth children would join our family, now I know. I've felt so up in the air about it. Our third child will be born to us, and our fourth child will join our family through adoption in a few years. And then we think our family will be complete.
I've spent much of this pregnancy thinking about the fact that this is the last time I will be pregnant, and I'm surprisingly at peace with it. I'd been a little afraid that I would still feel that same drive that I felt while pregnant with Patrick to have another one biologically, but I don't. I'm content (truth be told, more than content) to know this is my last one biologically. I'm more than content knowing we will adopt again.
The planner in me is happy to have nailed down the vision of our family.