dear baby

Dear Ninja,

I don't think I've ever taken you for granted, not when I first dreamed of you years ago, not when you were swimming in my ocean, not now when you cause me sleepless nights.

I feel cursed because I can't relive the first months I've had with you in my arms. Despite soaking in every moment, it wasn't enough.

People whose babies come along easily do not know what I mean. They look forward to reliving their experiences through the next baby. If they miss a day, it's okay, it doesn't matter because another one will come along.

There's a good chance that there will be no next baby. You are the baby. You are so wonderful, I want another one of you. But the doctor who helped us make you told me that I have only a 15-25% chance with a double transfer.

"Could be 15, could be 25. It's hard to say. It's a crapshoot. All the labs in the city are having problems with FETs. I don't know what our stats will be for this year," he said.

Your dad was taking care of you in the other room; you were crying because you were supposed to sleep and you didn't want to. Your dad says your problem is that we love you too much and that, as a result, you can't bear to be away from us; that's why you can't sleep.

I was shattered. I thought surely our chance would be at least 30%. Even a 'normal' couple gets a 20% chance every cycle. I must have heard wrong. I asked again and the answer stayed the same. (For even the one below-average embryo we transferred a few years ago, I heard 13%.)

Just to attempt this, I have to save at least $2000 for the procedure (plus money for a week's worth of travel for the three of us), wean you, go through more blood tests and ultrasounds, take a week off to fly to the big city, and then endure a dreaded two week wait to find out if we are successful.

The worst part is the weaning. If I were a normal person, I'd let you breastfeed until you decided to wean. I already don't know how I'm going to stop you from nursing, especially at night. And it is a special part of our relationship, no matter how hard it is. Should I stop breastfeeding for a baby who likely will not happen? I'd be short-changing you.

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What if you ask me for a sibling and I can't give you one?

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Being pregnant with you was so wonderful. What if it never happens again?

All my regrets from being pregnant. I didn't get maternity pictures done. I was too afraid that photos of my burgeoning belly would jinx everything.

***

Today I was wearing a maternity top I bought a few weeks ago. It works for nursing and it was on sale and so I thought, "In case I do get pregnant again, I'll pull this out in the future, as well." I can't think like that. I took the shirt off.

Went out. Reminders everywhere. Maternity clothes. Creed's song 'Arms Wide Open.'

You and I are supposed to go see my friend tomorrow who is due any day and I don't want to; I don't want to see her belly and hear her complain about her discomfort.

I held you and kissed you at every opportunity. That's nothing new. I do that every day. I tried to be even more conscious about it, though: holding you, kissing you, and knowing that every day with you might be the last one.

Every day is the last, in a sense. Today, for instance, was the only September 15th 2010 in my life that I will ever hold my seven-month-old baby in my arms.

Love,

Mama