This will be a brain dump. I am sorry in advance.

****

I am 30. Mat is 29. We have two kiddos already, 3 and 1. I graduate in 2014, Mat graduates in 2013. But in August 2014, we’ll hopefully be in a new town, where Mat is starting graduate school and I am starting that new career I have (and will have) busted my butt to get. I will be 33.

I won’t want to put off starting my career. I will already be at least 10 years behind everyone else starting with me. So, give or take a year or two before I would be willing to take maternity leave. But MFA programs are only 2 years (3 if you streeeeeeetch it out), so why take that time off when we’ll be moving again? Hopefully. Hopefully we’ll be moving so that Mat can finally start his career. I will be 36.

So we’ll move, again, and then I’ll start over at a different job, again. And I won’t want to take time off right away for maternity leave, so give or take another year or two, and then I’ll be 38.

I have PCOS. Even though I had two children at break-neck speed, fertility is supposed to drop the older you get anyway, and combined with PCOS, it could be a pain. I have never had to plan to get pregnant. It just… happened. Who knows how long I would have to go, waiting. And I know there are meds, there are options outside of the nice, boring traditional way. But. I will be 38, 39, 40. Xan will be 10, 11, 12. Lucas will be 8, 9, 10. Another child would be so separate from the other two, it almost wouldn’t seem fair. It would be like your first day at a new school where everyone has known each other since kindergarten, and you find yourself eating with the teacher at another table alone because no one knows you, and they don’t care to know you because they all already have each other.

****

When I was pregnant… the first time… I didn’t know for long before I lost the baby. But I had already named her. A girl. I just knew it would be a girl, and she would have big, full cheeks like me and her father’s carmel colored skin. I held firm to that idea, even as I was losing her. Lost her. In my dreams, she would visit me, with dark brown eyes and a sweet smile. It took a long time for the dreams to stop.

****

I want a daughter. I gave my mom hell, but I still want a daughter. I want to fight in the aisles of JcPenney, searching for a not-so-slutty prom dress. I want to gasp and have my eyes well up with tears as I see her come out of the dressing room for the first time, wearing a beautiful wedding dress. I want to hold her hand as she gives birth to her first child, kiss her cheek as she breathes through the contractions.

I want. I want. I want.

****

I love my boys. I love them with such a fierceness that I can’t stand sometimes. I have been so down about this. Which son would I give up just to have a daughter? Neither one of them. I can’t imagine replacing them with the idea of a daughter.

I need to be here, to be present and enjoy my boys. I need to let the dream go because it’s just not happening. It’s not. There will not be a little girl in a tutu and a crown at her 5th birthday. There will be no prom dress, no wedding dress.

It will be trucks. And dirt. And holes in the knees of the jeans, and standing up to pee. Baseball games, matchbox cars, remote controlled cars, and fart jokes. It will be suits and tuxes and pacing the waiting room, waiting for the birth of their own children.

And I can handle that. I can be 100% happy with that. I can. And I will. And I am.

But will I feel complete? I hope so.

****

Read this. Please. Read all of it, and cry with me.

http://rosylittlethings.typepad.com/posie_gets_cozy/2011/11/well-things-fell-apart.html

I know, right? It stings. I cried forever for that couple.

But then wait. Read this.

http://www.jenpluschris.com/i-am-a-mama-again/

I have been reading these two entries, over and over again. I almost have them memorized.

I know biologically my chances of producing my own daughter are 50%. And honestly, let’s face it – Mat gave me two Ys, his dad gave his mom 3 Ys, so chromosominally speaking, my chances are probably even slimmer.

I keep running things through my mind. Could we do it? Could we adopt some day? Is there a daughter out there for me, who doesn’t have someone to put a tutu on her for her birthday, pick out her dresses, put her in pig tails?

 

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