26 June 2014

Second Baby?

I've been jokingly pestering Sir with frequent requests for "second baby?"

It's joking.  It is.  Because that's how I deal with pain - I joke about it.  You say something really obscene to me, something so terrible you'd think it was written in a book, not said out loud, and I'll probably smile.  I think these things are hilarious.

They're hilarious because who SAYS that?  They're hilarious because something so awful, someone so bitter, can't really exist.  If it were in a movie we'd all chuckle.  If I had a writer he'd be shitting on my book.

So it's funny.

I have OCD.  One of my many things is a thing about numbers, as typical as that may sound.  I like even numbers.  I like 2, 6, and 12.  I always felt like I had to love 4 because it was 2x2, but that's a total of three numbers, and let's face it, 4 just doesn't feel right.  8 gets married in simply because of the 2 and 4, which brings it even again.

I always wanted 2 or 4 children.

I would prefer 4.

I certainly didn't think my only full pregnancy would be filled with regret, distress, or resentment.  I didn't think I would move through it with grief and cold dismissal.  I didn't predict taking months to connect with my baby after he was born.  I didn't anticipate how long it would take to love a baby that was not my first lost pregnancy.

And now how do you count?

When people ask how many children you have, you say one.

But really, REALLY, it's two.  Two pregnancies.  Uneven.  Uneven pregnancies.  One dead, one live.  Not right.

This is one of those situations you can't fix.  Like when you step on one foot harder than the other, and there is no way to quantify that - you will always have feet that have been stepped on unevenly.  Have another baby, you will still have an odd number of pregnancies.  Have an even number of pregnancies, you will have an odd number of babies.

So I try not to think about it.

I try to focus on the fact that I WANT another baby.  I WANT a normal, love-filled pregnancy, in a normal, spotless house.  I want to fold clothes and put them away in a baby's room.  I want to film the drive to the delivery room.  I want to smile at my husband and breathe slowly and ask him to text all of our friends.  I want our friends to know and be included this time.  I want another little burrito of baby happiness (and crying and pooping and colic and everything) in my home, in my life, in my time.

It isn't that I want to do it right this time.  That's not what I mean.  We have done just fine with Jack.  We continue to do fine with him, and I get better at it every day.  I don't want to forget about him.

But I do want to experience it all again.  I don't think there's anything wrong with that.  We could wait until we could afford it, but I won't be able to get pregnant forever, and we could also face the fact that we will NEVER afford it.  I'd love to adopt in the future, but this...I want this, too.

Sir thinks only children, like he was, get more presents.  He thinks siblings fight.  He thinks second babies cost too much, get less, and he's already stretched too thin.

He hasn't said no, he'll never say no, but he's made the answer clear.

So I laugh about it.

Because I'll never, ever have that moment with him when "we" decide to get pregnant.  It'll always be bartering.  It will always be guilt.  It will always be coercion.  So it just...won't.

Now I have two babies to grieve.

Maybe it will happen after all, but that isn't where my head is.  My head is just laughing at how easy it is to look forward through every 24 hour cycle and wait patiently, quietly for the next one to roll around.

One day you're waiting for the next day to get here.  Then the next paycheck.  Then the next season.  Then five years from now.

One day you're waiting for your turn on the big blue and green ball to be up so you can just be done waiting for time to pass.

I am so deeply unhappy that laughing is all I can do.  I'm so unhappy, wouldn't you think I'd make a great mom of two?  Second baby?  Yeah, haha, it'd be perfect.  It'd be ideal.  It's just what we need.  Look at how alone I am.  Look at how sad.  Look at me, crying and laughing, every day, just waiting for everything to be over.

My writer is fucking hilarious.