HappyPosted: September 19, 2012
A few weeks ago, Ian asked me what was wrong, so I told him. That I felt like I was disappointing him by not getting pregnant when I know how badly he wants to have a baby with me. That it didn’t help when he told me I would never disappoint him. That I would like to talk more later.
Later I asked Ian what he wanted to do. I thought I already knew he wanted to keep trying, and I already knew he’d say it was okay if I wanted to stop. And that was just what he said. But I couldn’t make that decision. I couldn’t say no, I won’t help you make this dream come true. As much as I may want to stop trying after six and a half years, I never thought I could be the one to say enough.
I didn’t know he’d been window shopping for babies online. I didn’t know he’d been looking at agency websites and foster children. I didn’t know that it’s legal in Louisiana to advertise your unborn child however you like, to offer them on Craigslist like a used appliance.
I have known I am ready to pursue adoption, but it took me a lot longer to believe that Ian is.
I have tried to put myself in his shoes. If I had a biological child with someone else, but Ian had fertility problems, I would want to keep trying and keep trying. I would feel that I needed to do everything I could to share the same experience with Ian that I did with a virtual stranger in comparison.
I know it’s not like that. I know there was no shared experience beyond a one night stand and a couple of OB appointments. I know Leah told him early on that Abby probably wasn’t his, that he wasn’t there when she was born, that he didn’t meet her until she was nine months old. I know these things.
But I also know that I would want to keep trying to make up for it. Indefinitely. I don’t want to cause Ian more pain by stopping.
Of course there is that small part of me that wants to try forever, and that ever optimistic part that just knows we could be one of those stop-trying-and-get-pregnant happy endings. Truly, though, I’m ready to be done. I’m ready for our child who is only our child.
Sunday night I gathered my courage and told Ian. I want to stop trying. His reaction was relief, which only made my relief greater. I am so overwhelmingly glad to be done with this. Maybe things would have been different if I’d had any nice doctors outside of family practice. Maybe not.
Adoption feels right in a way that trying never has. It feels like this is the way it’s supposed to be, like the past eighty months have been spent fighting for something that wasn’t what I really wanted in the first place.
I’ve been trying to write this post, trying over and over, deleting, drafting, combining, copying, pasting, again and again, for weeks. Now it’s here, finally, and it’s still not right. I don’t know how to say what I want to say, other than saying that I was scared to be happy; now I’m happy.