Sometimes I consider getting pregnant again for the sole reason of not needing to deal with my period for another nine months. At the first spot of blood, I am grateful for not being pregnant, but the week to follow always makes me grimace. In 15 years of experiencing this cycle, I have found that the most recent cramps, aches, mood swings, bloating and other general PMS loveliness are not as easy to ignore as they used to be.
But perhaps the bigger issue with my monthly occurrence is that I have this strange, innate sense of being empty. I can feel my eggs screaming out to meet their match, my ovaries begging to be filled, my vagina putting out the welcome mat. How can there be such a disconnect between my body and my brain, when in my heart, I know that I am done?
Is this, in fact, the sign that I am not really done?
The pull coming from within me seems to be more than purely physical. Nourishing and protecting and growing my daughters created the foundation of an unbreakable bond. My labor and birth experiences were mind-blowing and incredible. I still can’t quite believe that my body had that amount of beautiful strength – a strength that isn’t utilized in any other act, exercise or activity. And I wouldn’t be the person I am today without becoming a mama first.
My body reminds me that it is primed and ready to go in the reproductive area – and tries to be a friend when telling me that – tick, tick, tick – I’m not even 30 yet and this is the perfect time for another baby. But my head reminds me of the reality. Hellish sleepless nights and pure exhaustion. The struggle of trying to find some kind of balance in my life. Feeling guilty for not being able to really pay attention to my older daughter. The arguments and emotional separation from my husband. I know for certain that I do not want that life.
Maybe in five, six, seven years, as my girls are truly little people with school and friends and homework and extracurricular activities, we will choose to grow our family again. And then again, maybe I’ll read these past blog entries and be convinced otherwise. For now, I will try to keep the arguments between my head, my heart and my body to a dull roar. If you need a tampon, you know who to ask.