Just like when I was struggling to have my first, everyone was pregnant, now my thoughts are turning towards possibly having a second, everyone else seems to be having a decision about either having, not having or possibly going for #2.
The thing is, pre the Boy, I was desperate to be pregnant. I would have done anything. But this decision seems more complex.
Reasons to go ahead are mainly that I think it would be better for the Boy to have a sibling, and that I don't feel my family is complete.
Reasons not to go ahead are that - and I don't know if this is bad to admit - IVF, apart from the cost, is so much fucking hassle. Traipsing to and from the doctor, trying to figure out what to do with the Boy, drugs in the bathroom, drugs in the fridge, giving up coffee and wine, all for a very uncertain outcome.
Then there's
* the money we could spend on a really good holiday
* the possible long term health consequences
* I'm not even prepared to attempt a natural birth so will my stomach overhang end up at my shins? (let's face it, with hindsight, the NHS should have fitted a zip during my first ectopic, the number of times they've been in there)
*is it good for the Boy or me for me to do something as energy sapping as IVF while he's little?
* The dubious pleasures of staycations for the next 16 or so years
Most of the reasons against seem short term or a bit silly. The Boy having a sibling seems so much bigger.
But then I also feel very lucky in the first place, and almost greedy thinking about a second. And, in a way, I feel a bit envious for people who are at peace to stop.
Although, I don't think the "at peace with stopping" thing is neccessarily IF related, although it might make it more acute. I felt a bit grumpy the other day when someone announced their second pregnancy, irrationally, even although we haven't finished unpacking boxes yet.
I think what we might do is try but have some sort of limit, either financial or on the number of attempts. While during the last round I would have pretty much done anything to get and stay pregnant, this time would be different.
But we'll see - I still need to talk to my husband.
Oddly, even after having no tubes, I still occasionally wonder if I should do a pregnancy test if my period is late. It is difficult making a decision about an area of my life that's so steeped in irrationality!
Thursday, 23 January 2014
Thursday, 16 January 2014
What I did for Christmas
I've been wondering what to post for a while, and was inspired by Mali's post on her Christmas.
So this is what I did over the holidays.
On Christmas Eve, we had canapes with the Boy (bearing in mind the Boy is still little enough to be filled up fairly quickly), and then had teriyaki duck breasts when he was in bed.
We had a heated argument about what to do with the Boy's presents. Really! My husband's parents used to get all his toys out of the box and set them up, thus saving much tedious fiddling with batteries and "insert tab A into slot B" instructions. Smaller presents went into a stocking.
Mine used to wrap everything and put as much as would fit in a pillowcase, with larger items under the tree.
We ended up compromising and having a small stocking (the Boy pulled out the orange and looked at us in utter disgust, clearly trying to fathom what was driving us to do such odd things), presents under the tree (I went a bit mad and accidentally bought him a wooden train set instead of a small stocking filler), and his main present, his slide, was set up.
We went for a walk down the beach in the driving wind, which I remember always doing in my childhood. The Boy started howling so we went home.
Lunch was smoked salmon on oatcakes, roast venison on the bone with all the trimmings, and trifle.
I think the main point of not setting up the presents in advance is to keep husbands out of the kitchen and out of mischief; mine appeared and started throwing a Gordon Ramsay strop about the bloody trifle topping when I was trying to simultaneiously plate up, carve and make gravy.
All the leftovers got turned into a massive hot crust pastry pie.
Then, because we are where we are, we had another big celebration on New Year. Which was the first time I'd had any number of people in the new house.
On Hogmanay, we had Chinese takeaway. This is because I remember really enjoying having the same at my granny's house on New Year when I was little. Everyone stayed up for the Bells apart from the Boy, who was too little to understand.
My husband, who had his kilt on for the occasion*, scrubbed the front step, to welcome the new year. The cat got fed up with him not being in bed so crept down the bannisters to above where he was sitting, and started hitting him on the head to express her general displeasure.
Then it was New Year's Day. I made potato scones and fried eggs, and most of us had a brisk walk to the beach to recover.
Then it was back for 70s style things on sticks, followed by roast beef on the bone, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, bacon, roast potatoes and then, after a rest, creme brulee.
Better still, the Boy was occupied by his cousins while the grown ups made a serious dent in the red wine.
And the 2nd is still a holiday here, which is handy for napping.
It all seems a while ago now; I've been detoxing for a fortnight after all the rich food. But it was fun.
* This seems to always cause some interest to those who are not native to these shores, but blokes generally wear underwear only with a hire kilt. My husband owns his, but normally wears trousers, so I had to hiss to him a few times to not sit with his legs akimbo.
So this is what I did over the holidays.
On Christmas Eve, we had canapes with the Boy (bearing in mind the Boy is still little enough to be filled up fairly quickly), and then had teriyaki duck breasts when he was in bed.
We had a heated argument about what to do with the Boy's presents. Really! My husband's parents used to get all his toys out of the box and set them up, thus saving much tedious fiddling with batteries and "insert tab A into slot B" instructions. Smaller presents went into a stocking.
Mine used to wrap everything and put as much as would fit in a pillowcase, with larger items under the tree.
We ended up compromising and having a small stocking (the Boy pulled out the orange and looked at us in utter disgust, clearly trying to fathom what was driving us to do such odd things), presents under the tree (I went a bit mad and accidentally bought him a wooden train set instead of a small stocking filler), and his main present, his slide, was set up.
We went for a walk down the beach in the driving wind, which I remember always doing in my childhood. The Boy started howling so we went home.
Lunch was smoked salmon on oatcakes, roast venison on the bone with all the trimmings, and trifle.
I think the main point of not setting up the presents in advance is to keep husbands out of the kitchen and out of mischief; mine appeared and started throwing a Gordon Ramsay strop about the bloody trifle topping when I was trying to simultaneiously plate up, carve and make gravy.
All the leftovers got turned into a massive hot crust pastry pie.
Then, because we are where we are, we had another big celebration on New Year. Which was the first time I'd had any number of people in the new house.
On Hogmanay, we had Chinese takeaway. This is because I remember really enjoying having the same at my granny's house on New Year when I was little. Everyone stayed up for the Bells apart from the Boy, who was too little to understand.
My husband, who had his kilt on for the occasion*, scrubbed the front step, to welcome the new year. The cat got fed up with him not being in bed so crept down the bannisters to above where he was sitting, and started hitting him on the head to express her general displeasure.
Then it was New Year's Day. I made potato scones and fried eggs, and most of us had a brisk walk to the beach to recover.
Then it was back for 70s style things on sticks, followed by roast beef on the bone, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, bacon, roast potatoes and then, after a rest, creme brulee.
Better still, the Boy was occupied by his cousins while the grown ups made a serious dent in the red wine.
And the 2nd is still a holiday here, which is handy for napping.
It all seems a while ago now; I've been detoxing for a fortnight after all the rich food. But it was fun.
* This seems to always cause some interest to those who are not native to these shores, but blokes generally wear underwear only with a hire kilt. My husband owns his, but normally wears trousers, so I had to hiss to him a few times to not sit with his legs akimbo.
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