Third

I wonder if my husband and I will ever have another child. A third child.

It is beginning to look rather unlikely. But that's okay.

If I can reconcile myself to Georgina's death, this should be a doodle. Shouldn't it?

If you had asked me a year ago, in the run up to Jessica and Georgina's first birthday, if I would have another child by now, July 2010, I would have said yes. Fairly confidently. I was so sure. I had even allowed my mind to drift to that room, that same room where the girls were born. To another birth. To my husband's smiling face. To the reparations I would try to make. 

Because I thought that having another child would help. 

But I have only been pregnant once in the intervening months and that was a fairly short lived thing. 

Why? I don't know. But in the (unasked for) suggestions box we have the following hypotheses . . . . .

You don't want it enough.

You want it too much.

You are grieving excessively for Georgina and the 'next' baby can tell it isn't wanted yet.

You haven't even started grieving for Georgina yet and your emotions are all frozen and wrong and the 'next' baby can tell it isn't wanted yet.

It's too soon.

It's too late.

You're too old.

You're overweight.

You're underweight.

It's because you and your husband no longer love one another. Babies can always tell you know.

Well, I didn't want to say anything but the way you've looked for the past year it's not surprising you can't get pregnant. Not exactly like the owner of a uterus that a baby would want to snuggle down and make a home in. You looked kind of puffy and your skin was all grey. I kid you not. That one crushed my confidence because, hell, I can't even pull off looking fertile. Let alone being fertile. 

It's because you still treat Jessica like a baby.

It's because you took too much medication and now your hormones are screwed up. 

It's because you drink too much.

It's because you don't drink enough, maybe a couple of glasses of wine would relax you.

Babies don't come to order you know. No s*** because obviously I placed an order for two incredibly tiny and ill-prepared children and THAT was why this all happened.

You're too impatient.

You should be more proactive. You should do something don't ya know? Well, we are doing something, in the time honoured tradition. Maybe we need to do it a different way. Perhaps I need to stand on my head, or dress up in leather, or . . . . .something. 

I have taken a couple of tentative steps in an attempt to find out why I can no longer seem to fall pregnant. I've had a sequence of blood tests to check my hormone levels. No dice. Everything within normal limits. 

The NH.S would not generally consider funding much in the way of fertility treatments or investigations for a couple who already have a biological child. And when I consider how much Jessica has cost the UK taxpayer I can't help but nod in agreement. Over four months in hospital, all those drugs, 24 hour nursing care, consultant time, all that expensive equipment. I'm sure she has spent every penny both my husband and I have ever paid in tax and then some.

And the longer I wait for this possible third child, for this third pregnancy, for this miracle child that will be carried to term and born screaming, the more it seems like stupidity and smugness and hubris and greed. 

Is it even about another child any longer? Perhaps it has become all about me, me, me, me.

The longer I wait, the more it seems like a foolish idea anyhow.

But I still want to call out 'not fair' and stamp my foot and break a plate.

Because I still want another child so very badly. 

Still. Still. Still.

But 'I want, doesn't get' as my mother used to tell me.
That leaves me a little tired, a little defeated, a little lost.

'I'd rather be in Tokyo
I'd rather listen to Thin Lizzy-oh
And watch the Sunday gang in Harajuku
There's something wrong with me, I'm a cuckoo'