We are done with having babies, done with IVF, done with trying to get pregnant. And yet I pay attention to the quality of my cervical mucus. I note the timing of my cycles. I still know when I'm fertile -- or as fertile as a 44-year-old woman can be.
I'm a recovering infertility patient. Since 2002 my whole life has revolved around getting pregnant, staying pregnant, having a pregnancy with a happy ending, establishing breastfeeding, and then getting pregnant again.
You'd think when the goal of two living babies had been reached, that I would have flopped into an exhausted heep of contentment. But there's a certain momentum going that keeps me focused on my fertility signs, and there's a certain adrenaline that has kept me from relaxing entirely.
We are done with having babies, though. We are enjoying our two boys who are growing older. James, who was conceived a few months after I started blogging here, is now saying words like "circle" and "purple." Baby time is over for him, and baby time is over for me, which certainly makes me a bit wistful.
But it is the recent sojourns that I have taken into the land of adults that have pushed me more into the mind of we-are-done-with-having-babies. It is lovely to spend an afternoon in conversation with other adult humans about their lives -- the ironies, the victories, the battles, the steadfastness in the face of defeat.
And I'm wondering what person I will create when I give birth to this new me -- mother of two, recovering infertility patient, who is looking to rediscover what she was passionate about before she spent all her time thinking about cervical mucus and Repronex dosages.
