proof the Universe has a sense of humor
I did not plan to raise an only child.
I wanted two - the classic combo, a boy and a girl. But we started late... I was working, then life became a spiral around the Kinglet's disorder. More than all that, though, was that the God-King adamantly did not want more than one.
I thought he might change his mind, in time, but he never did. And much as I had the ghost of a dream for a baby girl (or even another beautiful boy, that's fine too), not having another one was never the deal breaker that never having any would have been. The God-King had his reasons, including some very good ones I can't really argue with (we're old, raising an infant is fucking hard, we're just regaining some of the freedom we had before the Kinglet was born, having multiple kids is irresponsible in an environmental, humanitarian sense, etc.) And bottom line, I love and support him. So.
Last month, when the God-King finally decided to go ahead with the vasectomy he's been talking about for years, I cleared out all the Kinglet's baby stuff from the attic. Sold or gave away the stroller/carrier combo, the baby gates, tub, high chair --- you get the picture. Even donated the nursing rocker to the local Le Leche League.
It felt like closure. I felt good - lost eleven pounds over the summer, finally making progress with the Kinglet, spending a lot of time doing things that are important to me, my passions and my career. Good times.
We joked, handing heavy equipment down from the attic... things like, "You know getting rid of this stuff is tempting fate. Maybe we should wait until AFTER the vasectomy. Cuz wouldn't it be hysterical if I got pregnant now?"
My mom was like, "Are you sure you want to go through with this? Are you REALLY sure? Because I've dreamed of my red-headed granddaughter, you know."
Fast forward a few weeks. The God-King has had his surgery. Poor guy. It's not pleasant. I'm expecting my period any day, feeling achy and unsteady and god damn it, why doesn't it just come? Now I'm seven days late - unexpected, since I've been taking the lady supplements, but definitely not unheard of. Used to be irregular by definition because of the endo. It's just that I take pain medication daily for my migraines and other conditions. Wouldn't want to do that if... you know. By some crazy twist of fate...
My last thought, between peeing on the stick and looking at it was, well. If God/The Universe wants us to have another baby, now would be the time [since the God-King is now, presumably, shooting blanks].
Well.
I'm taking it much better than he is. It's hard not to see it as some kind of divine intervention... or a crazy ironic cosmic joke. It's something some part of me wanted, anyway... three to five years ago, but still wanted. So I'm dealing. Tired...sick, a little. Very worried. But dealing.
Not so easy on the God-King. After all, he did just let someone rip his manly guts out of a very sensitive place, slice them up, then shove them back, leaving little holes and much ouchiness behind. All to find out it was too late, anyway. He says he feels like a character in the Lovecraft universe - we really have no control over our fate. We are tiny and insignificant.
He's with us, though. We've gotten through everything so far. What else can you do besides... just keep going? Hope for the best? And make room?
If I've learned anything so far, it's that love takes up a lot of space. And is totally worth it in the end.
I wanted two - the classic combo, a boy and a girl. But we started late... I was working, then life became a spiral around the Kinglet's disorder. More than all that, though, was that the God-King adamantly did not want more than one.
I thought he might change his mind, in time, but he never did. And much as I had the ghost of a dream for a baby girl (or even another beautiful boy, that's fine too), not having another one was never the deal breaker that never having any would have been. The God-King had his reasons, including some very good ones I can't really argue with (we're old, raising an infant is fucking hard, we're just regaining some of the freedom we had before the Kinglet was born, having multiple kids is irresponsible in an environmental, humanitarian sense, etc.) And bottom line, I love and support him. So.
Last month, when the God-King finally decided to go ahead with the vasectomy he's been talking about for years, I cleared out all the Kinglet's baby stuff from the attic. Sold or gave away the stroller/carrier combo, the baby gates, tub, high chair --- you get the picture. Even donated the nursing rocker to the local Le Leche League.
It felt like closure. I felt good - lost eleven pounds over the summer, finally making progress with the Kinglet, spending a lot of time doing things that are important to me, my passions and my career. Good times.
We joked, handing heavy equipment down from the attic... things like, "You know getting rid of this stuff is tempting fate. Maybe we should wait until AFTER the vasectomy. Cuz wouldn't it be hysterical if I got pregnant now?"
My mom was like, "Are you sure you want to go through with this? Are you REALLY sure? Because I've dreamed of my red-headed granddaughter, you know."
Fast forward a few weeks. The God-King has had his surgery. Poor guy. It's not pleasant. I'm expecting my period any day, feeling achy and unsteady and god damn it, why doesn't it just come? Now I'm seven days late - unexpected, since I've been taking the lady supplements, but definitely not unheard of. Used to be irregular by definition because of the endo. It's just that I take pain medication daily for my migraines and other conditions. Wouldn't want to do that if... you know. By some crazy twist of fate...
My last thought, between peeing on the stick and looking at it was, well. If God/The Universe wants us to have another baby, now would be the time [since the God-King is now, presumably, shooting blanks].
Well.
I'm taking it much better than he is. It's hard not to see it as some kind of divine intervention... or a crazy ironic cosmic joke. It's something some part of me wanted, anyway... three to five years ago, but still wanted. So I'm dealing. Tired...sick, a little. Very worried. But dealing.
Not so easy on the God-King. After all, he did just let someone rip his manly guts out of a very sensitive place, slice them up, then shove them back, leaving little holes and much ouchiness behind. All to find out it was too late, anyway. He says he feels like a character in the Lovecraft universe - we really have no control over our fate. We are tiny and insignificant.
He's with us, though. We've gotten through everything so far. What else can you do besides... just keep going? Hope for the best? And make room?
If I've learned anything so far, it's that love takes up a lot of space. And is totally worth it in the end.