I was blessed with an idyllic childhood in a Christian home
in a small town with a wonderful family. One of the greatest blessings of time
spent growing up was my brother, Kyle. I was three weeks shy of my second
birthday when Kyle was born and, since he was walking at 9 months, he was part
of nearly every childhood adventure in my memory. We were siblings, but best of
all we were friends. Our personalities were as different as night and day, but
we loved being together. We fought a lot and could argue about almost anything,
but we never stayed mad at one another for more than a few minutes. He helped
me be a tomboy and I helped him be kind and sensitive. We were (and still are)
quite a pair.
When I visualized the family I would someday have, I always
visualized a kind, caring husband and two children just close enough in age to
be close friends. I hit the jackpot in the husband department (oh, yeah!) and I
have an amazing little girl who keeps me on my toes and rolling on the floor in
laughter. The only problem? I just want
one more.
Doug and I had been married almost a year and a half when we
decided we wanted a baby. A few months later we were pregnant and so excited
about being parents. We fell in love with Lily the moment we found out she was
on her way and feel blessed every day to have such a happy, healthy child. We
also knew we wanted at least one more and, not long after Lily’s first
birthday, we decided we were ready for another child whenever God felt like we
needed one. We hoped we could have our children two or three years apart so
they could be close in age and play together. Time passed, and we realized we
were not going have children two years apart. We tried to look on the bright
side; maybe our kids would be three years apart and Lily would be old enough to
be a helper and understand more about having a sibling. More time has passed,
and now is Lily is three and a half. We are still looking on the bright side;
it looks like we won’t be paying college tuition for two kids at once.
Sometimes it makes us sad, but in ways that are a bit
unexpected. I find myself very sad as I long for a family of four, but I don’t
find myself sharing that with others. I feel guilty for feeling sad. Every time
I begin to dwell on our secondary infertility (the term for infertility
experienced by couples who already have a child), I feel like I should count my
blessings and treasure the extraordinary child I have. I think of friends who
are still struggling to become parents for the first time and I think of Hannah,
the mother of Samuel, who pleaded with God for just one child. I find my
sadness is mixed with twinges of guilt, as if I am not fully appreciating the
gift I have been given with the child I am watching grow before my eyes. I find
myself on the verge of grief, but do not feel I deserve the right to grieve. After
all, I have one really awesome kid.
Secondary infertility is fairly common, but still not well
understood by most folks. Many people
just assume that if you have been able to have one child, then it makes sense
that you would be able to have another. Some people assume you only had a
desire for a single child. A few people make snide comments about parenting a
single child, insinuating that you really don’t know what real parenting is
about until you have two. Everyone seems to want to know when we are going to
have another one. We’d like to know the answer to that question, too.
I managed to bury the sadness deep inside for a long time. I
would tell myself how blessed we were to have Lily and that someday, when the
time was right, we would blessed with #2. The defining moment when I recognized
my own sadness over the situation occurred when I was reading Lily her bedtime
stories and, out of nowhere, she said, “Mommy, I want a sister!” She thought
about it a second and said, “Or I want a brother.” It was obvious she didn’t
care which; she just wanted a sibling and I, more than anything, wanted to be
able to provide her with that.
Until recently, I had once again managed to bury the sadness
and the desire. We still had that desire to have a second child, but had only
dabbled in fertility treatment. We decided to put our house on the market,
forcing us to make the third bedroom an appealing space. Until that point, it
was the storage room for all things baby. When Lily would outgrow something, it
would go in that room. We had her nursery furniture, clothing, toys and
everything else a couple would need to completely spoil their baby. I insisted
we set the room up as a nursery to show the house so it would showcase the size
of the bedroom. Somewhere inside, though, I made that decision because I could
not bear the thought of moving the nursery furniture to storage. The crib and
changing table and rocking chair mean so much more to me than showcasing a
spacious room; to me, they represent a hope and a dream that we pray for daily.
They represent just one more.
I think I will go ahead and blame it on the actual culprit. A four-day weekend is drawing to a close and I am not quite ready to get back to reality. We celebrated the 4th with cooking out, eating watermelon, watching fireworks and spending time together as a family. I enjoyed a wonderful holiday weekend. In my pre-mommy days, these long weekends left me refreshed and ready to conquer the world. 
