The Decision to Have 'More' Children

One child or two? Or more? (forget it) In my case, once Ian and I decided to have children, we pretty much knew from the start that we would have two. My four-day labour did its level best to persuade me otherwise. But once I overcame the post-labour night terrors that afflicted me every time I thought about going through THAT again (actually, I still suffer from occasional labour terrors… what was that thing people say about forgetting the pain once the baby arrives? SO NOT in my case!), having number two was right back on the agenda. So the next question was, when?

Plenty of my mum-friends fell pregnant with their seconds before their firstborns were 18 months old – some were happily up the duff before their first babies were even a year old. And whether by choice or by chance, siblings are born spaced apart by every possible number of months and go on to have close relationships with each other or sibling rivalry or not much to do with each other, etc. It is not the point of this post to comment on the benefits or drawbacks of having children a certain distance apart, nor have I actually done much reading or research on the subject. I don’t even have a particular opinion about it either way. I just knew that I was simply not ready to get pregnant when my baby was 9 months old, 12 months old or even 18 months old. But I’m ready now.

From the day of my first period when I was a teenager, I have been aware of my body’s capability to become pregnant and for all bar two months in late 2008, I have actively taken precautions to avoid it. Now, for the second and probably last time in our lives, we have made the decision to “start trying.” Now, everything we have done in the past to avoid pregnancy will be turned on its head to try to encourage it - cycles are charted, daily temperatures taken, bodily fluids examined. Now, when the cramps, the moods and the blood arrive, they are accompanied by a sensation even more potent - crushing disappointment.

Especially when the first pregnancy was achieved almost immediately, it only takes one month of trying and one unwelcome period to open the floodgates of negativity and fear in the mind. It is when the statistics that have for years been paraded before our eyes – rapidly decreasing fertility with age, increased risk of complications, possible infertility even? – begin to haunt at least a portion of our headspace every single day. It’s hard to believe that just a few weeks ago we were blissfully (ignorantly?) confident that when we were ready it would simply happen.

In our teenage years we are cautioned about how easily we can become pregnant. In our late thirties we are cautioned about how difficult it can be. It doesn’t seem fair. Still, with the frustrating start of each new cycle brings the potential first day of a brand new 40 week adventure. (Not that I’m counting or anything.) And I know as well as anyone that when I do fall pregnant, with its glowing flush of joy and hormones and morning sickness, I’ll be the first to completely forget the angst and wonder what all the fuss and worry were about.