We were walking to JavaMonkey, and we saw an older woman walking with a little girl who couldn't have been more than three. Clearly a grandma and granddaughter. The little girl was wearing a sundress that left her shoulderblades exposed, and I remembered stroking Elayna's back when she was that age - how prominent the shoulderblades are, like the child might just grow wings if read the right stories... I remembered the smell of toddler hair and the lightness of a child that small. And I turned to the guys and said, "We should start thinking about the possibility of another kid, when we get up to Boston."
And we discussed it a little as we walked. And we got to JavaMonkey, and I sat down on a couch while they went to get drinks, and the thought again, the same one I've been having:
I'll never have another baby.
This is so hard to type.
I've tossed that around. The "Gee, this makess it difficult to have another baby" thing. Because the drugs I'm on are too heavy, you see; they cause birth defects. Fewer drugs = seizures. And I could be monitored - but even on a lighter dose, my body doesn't cope. The exhaustion is so profound.
Be on drugs - risk birth defects, and be unable to care for my baby due to side effects.
Go off drugs - risk harming the baby during a seizure.
I can't take care of a baby.
I'm managing to take care of a child; Elayna's old enough to manage. But my body is too fucked up to be relied on to take care of a baby. Cold hard fact. It would be pure selfishness to have a child that I could not take care of.
No more baby.
No more nursing. No more new-baby smell. True, no more poopy diapers - but also no baby falling asleep in my arms.
No other little person to raise. Gods, I love Elayna. Who knows who that other little person could potentially be?
I never will.
Honestly, I had not been planning to have another baby. But I hadn't been planning not to.
I just always figured that, until I got too old, I would have a choice.
I was supposed to have a choice.
I don't have a choice anymore. That got taken away.
And I cried with my guys, and I'm crying now. Because it is something so fundamental. And it's been taken away.
And there. Now it's here in the diary. And maybe having written it will help, and maybe I can move on.
I was supposed to have a choice, dammit.
This is not what I would have chosen.