Second Thoughts

I have so many thoughts that swirl around in my head lately. The vision of a two-kid family that had always been my ideal. The frustration and confusion of infertility before we got help. The pain and suffering of our family when I struggled with PPD. The insidious little thoughts that pop up when I'm having a bad parenting day.

What if it wasn't just PPD? Look at how I struggle still with parenting, with keeping my cool instead of raging against the inconsequential little battles of life with a small child. What if I'm depressed again, or maybe it never left? What if I'm really just a horrible, terrible person who isn't meant to be a mother?

Some people say it's the stress of school while working full time and parenting a little one. That it will go away with time, that toddlers and preschoolers are hardest because they're learning to push buttons. That she'll be less exhausting when she has the outlet of school and other people to be around with her boundless energy. I've heard too that sometimes our kids are too similar to us, and we see the worst part of ourselves reflecting back like an accusation of our faults.

I think about all the struggling and I can't possibly imagine how I could handle adding PPD and all the changes that come with another baby on top of that. And really, when it comes down to it, I don't feel the same pangs of longing when I see a baby. I don't have much nostalgia for having an infant, perhaps because I was too miserable to enjoy the small moments.

And yet, when I take a moment to reflect on that, I get angry. Resentful. Ashamed. And sad. It doesn't seem fair to have struggled to get pregnant and then to struggle with the reality of having that baby in my life. To feel that every cry and tantrum and whine is an indictment of my inability to care for her. To feel guilty for needing space and solitude so desperately. To be jealous of mothers who love their children so effortlessly that the tough moments flow over them like water.

A small part of my heart wishes for another baby so I could have another chance, to know that instant bonding and love without struggle. But I fear I'm too broken, that we'd be doomed to a repeat with even more on our plate this time around.

My PCOS symptoms have been so unpredictable since Brianna was born. I've gone through medication after medication, hoping to find the right fit that won't leave me with mood swings, acne, more facial hair, and low libido. I'm awaiting results on insulin testing to see if that's part of why nothing works very long. It's typical with PCOS, but I've never had issues with insulin or blood sugar over the last 15 years, so I doubt that's what's going on. If everything comes back normal, I'm planning to get an IUD and hope the consistent hormone levels help.

It's hard coming to terms with this being the new reality for me. Even as a teenager, I managed my PCOS from the perspective of wanting to have two kids eventually. The idea that I'll have to live with these symptoms as is until menopause hits in twenty years never really occurred to me. For some reason, the decision to have another child (or not) feels like a major event in my life, a dividing line for my experiences, and I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to get this one right so I don't look back with regret.