The last 3 years have been a real trip. In some ways I've been to hell and back again, cause in case you haven't been keeping up, mothering through depression, anxiety, and job loss hasn't been that easy at times. And it's those troublesome times that have helped me to stave off any desire to procreate. Baby? What are you crazy?
But then, one day, more than 3 years after having Michael, it totally hit me. I want to have another baby. Not because it's part of some plan that makes sense on paper or external forces are pressuring me, or my biological clock is ticking louder. I finally feel the genuine warmth and desire towards having another little one and all the hope and optimism that comes with. I've had inklings before, but my depression and external forces had squelched those thoughts.
My husband and I planned to start TTCing again about now, but then I was trying to loose more weight before getting pregnant again. Now I totally want to give up on that, because it is not really happening. And Michael is asking more and more for a sibling, which is creating guilt. And the lady that watches Michael in the nursery has the cutest, chubbiest little boy that totally makes my ovaries bubble. But this desire is totally my own, coming from a place deep within.
BUT, my freakin wrist hurts, still. I'm convinced that I need this stupid plate out of my arm ASAP... which is July. And then when I do get it out, I don't imagine that will feel too great either. And if I get pregnant and have to put off getting it out, it's likely that I'll be putting it off for a LONG time, because who wants to have a (somewhat elective) surgery with a newborn to take care of?
In the great perspective of things, putting off trying for #2 for a few months isn't that big of a deal, but I completely lack the ability to think about pregnancy rationally.
So, I'm going to remain strong... but a prophylactic failure would not be unwelcome right now.