I used to
think I would never stop yearning to be pregnant. That no matter what else
happened or how I found my way to motherhood, the desire to carry a baby
beneath my heart would never go away.
And to an
extent, that has remained true. I still catch my breath sometimes when talking
to pregnant women, swallowing my curiosity and jealousy away. I still wish I
could have been the one to carry my daughter. And there will probably always be
part of me that wonders what it would be like—what I may have missed out on.
adopting my little girl, that yearning has been mostly replaced by a different
feeling: a fear of what it would mean to have a biological baby now.
I didn’t start
really thinking about this until I began dating again. And even then, it has
been a thought mostly detained in the back of my mind. The likelihood of me
ever getting pregnant is very, very small. After five abdominal surgeries, I have
only one tube left—and it is pretty mangled and marred. My right ovary is
basically non-existent, and my left is fused to my pelvic wall beneath layers
of scar tissue. Endometriosis has made my womb an inhospitable environment, and
there is reason to believe I am plagued with natural killer cells—the best
explanation for why my two IVF cycles failed.
A doctor once
told me that a woman religiously taking birth control pills and sleeping with a
man who never forgot to wear a condom would have a better chance of getting
pregnant than me. So most days, I move forward with the belief that it will never
happen, and therefore a second child isn’t something to even concern myself with.
It’s not me I would worry about if I somehow miraculously got pregnant. It’s my daughter.
But like I
said, then I started dating and contemplating a sex life once more (which, for
the record, has still remained fairly stagnant, but a girl can dream). With
that, the question of “what if” suddenly pushed its way into my head—a question
that, surprisingly, left me feeling a fair amount of panic. Because I realized,
I wouldn’t want to be pregnant now.
want a biological baby.
might surprise you. It isn’t because I am still single or because of monetary
concerns. Sure, those factors would come into play, and
I do plan on waiting until I have a partner in my life before adding any
further to our family. But the reality is that I want more children, and so I
would make it work if something crazy happened.
It’s not me I
would worry about if I somehow miraculously got pregnant. It’s my daughter.
thought much about this before. When I was first told I would likely have
trouble conceiving, I assumed I would work toward a pregnancy in order to have
that experience, but that I would then turn to adoption to further expand my
family. I figured I would have both adopted and biological children in my life.
But then my
daughter came first. And raising her has made me wonder how she might feel, if
she had siblings who shared a genetic connection to me that she did not.
it seemed like a terrible idea, like something that might make her feel left
out or less wanted, leaving her feeling like the adopted child,
rather than just my child.
I am so fiercely
protective of my girl, and so completely swelled with love for her, I would
never want to do anything that could potentially cause her harm or additional
confusion in terms of what it means to be adopted. I would never want her to
feel any less wanted or valued than she is. And my fear has become that a
biological child would somehow accomplish just that.
If a guy has his heart set on a bio baby, I’m not the woman for him. Because I won’t do it. I won’t put myself through that process again.
I used to
think that as opposed as I was to ever pursuing fertility treatments again, if
I met a man who desperately wanted biological children—I would probably be
willing to try once more. If only for him. But now, it’s a deal-breaker. If a
guy has his heart set on a bio baby, I’m not the woman for him. Because I won’t
do it. I won’t put myself through that process again, both because it damn near
destroyed me the last time, and because I would never want my girl to think
that a bio baby was worth all that pain and sacrifice, when she is right here
proving to me every single day that love has nothing to do with blood.
I realize this
is a crazy thing to worry about. I’m not sleeping with anyone now, and I have no
intention of ever pursuing fertility treatments again. I might as well be
menopausal for how busted my lady bits are. But it’s one of those weird
thoughts that pops into my head every now and again: the realization that I no
longer want a bio baby.
I know that
there are families who make this work, but did they ever have similar worries
or fears? And how do they make it
work? How do they bypass those potential concerns?
there are more children in my future. That my girl will have siblings, and I
will get the chance to be “mommy” to at least one more little one. But I can’t
shake the feeling that adoption is the only way to go for us now. That I
wouldn’t want a pregnancy, even if one could somehow be guaranteed.