tick tock

My appointment at the RE is in 8 hours. Earlier tonight I was feeling pretty good about it. We can do this. We're good parents. We're prepared. Dr. Bitchy signed off. I've lost 20 pounds. We're ready.

And then I watched Desperate Housewives. Yes, one of the dumbest shows on television caught me. For those of you with better taste in television with better things to do who don't watch it, I'll explain. One of the cast members was trampled in a riot (look, I know it's a stupid show, okay?) and lost a kidney. Her remaining kidney is "deformed" and doesn't function well. They discussed dialysis. At one point, she tells her friends to be sure to look after her son if something happens to her.

I thought about my own kidneys. They suffered during my pregnancy with Robbie. They were in worse shape than I knew. Dr. Bitchy was surprised they'd recovered. They'd been close to failure. What if I get sick again and they don't recover this time? What if it's worse than that? What if I die? What if I leave Robbie without a mother? Another baby without a mother?

I know that preeclampsia deaths in this country are rare. (Though they are disgustingly common in third world countries. Don't even get me started.) But they happen. What if....

I recognize this is anxiety getting the better of me. I've consulted the experts and passed all the tests. On paper, everything should be okay. But life isn't paper. And the odds have never seemed to favor us. Between the infertility, miscarriages, early preeclampsia, Robbie's stomach issues, we often find ourselves in the minority of statistics. Dr. Bitchy said I'm "an outlier." Being unique is highly overrated.

This is what I want. It is. I want very much for Robbie to have a sibling, for us to have another child. Growing up, I thought I wanted one child. I was an only child myself and thought it was pretty alright. But as an adult, I often find myself wishing I'd had someone to share my experience with. I watch friends and their siblings and find myself wistful. I know not all sibling relationships are good, but sometimes they are, and I'd liked to have the chance. So I thought we'd like two. Then along came Robbie, and I've so enjoyed being his mom that to be honest, I'd like more. I'd be happy with 3 or 4. David freezes when I say that, laughing nervously. "Where would we put them?" I just shrug and say we'd figure it out if we needed to.

I know that won't happen. Even if we managed to get and stay pregnant and deliver a full term, healthy child, I'm not getting any younger. I'll be 35 this year. David is 40. As we're already fertility challenged, the clock is ticking. If I can convince David, I'd like to try to adopt a child or two from foster care. So far he's not on board with that, though. So if we manage to make another real, live baby, this will likely be it for us. And I want at least that.

But the process is terrifying. I'm scared to hurt another baby. I'm scared to let down my husband. I'm scared to let Robbie down. But I guess I'm more scared not to try.

--Trish