Before Chris stopped the hormone injections last year, after we were in the second trimester with the precious Hope Babes, we put 13 straws of Chris’ sperm on ice. They were our insurance policy, in case we wanted more babies.
So Friday we got a bill to pay for another year of storing that sperm. The bill is tiny, but it brought up the decision. Are we done? Are these two perfect babies all the babies we will ever have. Will we ever go through another IVF to have more babies? Could we try an IUI for another baby? Will we stop with our perfect family just as it is right now?
I cannot believe how difficult this is proving to be. We always only wanted two babies. We have two perfect angels. We have our boy and our girl, we have perfection, how can we even consider wanting more? Isn’t it greedy to want more?
And with my head, I don’t want more. I know that with our two bits of heaven we can provide them everything they deserve in terms of financial and physical needs, but most importantly in terms of time and love and attention and stimulation and hugs and kisses and one on one time. With my head I know we are done. With my head I know we can let that sperm defrost and be thrown away.
Never mind anything else, do you know what we went through for that sperm. Do you have any idea what my hubby endured to create that sperm. That sperm is the realisation that a diagnosis at 17 telling him he could never father children was rubbish. That sperm (together with the Hope Babes) is the realisation of our dreams come true. Somehow throwing it away just seems wrong on so many levels.
When the Babes outgrew their tiny clothes it was emotionally hard to give those clothes away, it was admitting that I wasn’t putting it away for the next baby. But as Chris said at the time if we had another baby we would simply buy more clothes, the new baby could have their own new clothes, not hand-me-downs and so I let go of the little clothes. And as they have outgrown other items I have used the same reasoning to help me let things go. Some items have proven much harder than others, like their play mat. For some reason everytime I pack that play mat up to take to the second hand store I cry, I want to see another baby play on that mat. I loved watching Sausage and Pudding develop and grow stronger and more aware and alert and clever under that mat. And so the mat still lives in our spare bedroom.
After so long of battling and facing infertility it seems so hard to just walk away now and say we are done. It seems so hard to accept that I will never be pregnant again. I loved being pregnant. That I will never feel a baby kick from the inside again. That I will never have another chance to experience child birth, having missed the only chance I got under a general anaesthetic. That I will never get to breastfeed again. And it seems to totally ridiculously greedy to even want to have all that again, when I have perfection living in my home every day.
And so for now, while the decision has been taken that we are indeed done, we have all the children we need, we will pay for another year of keeping that sperm on ice, because like the play mat I cannot let it go just yet.