I Never Wanted to Be a Mom

I never wanted to be a mom. At least, not in the typical sense. My husband and I began dating when I was only 15.  We joked often that we didn't want kids. Only, I wasn't joking.  We actually recently stumbled upon a video of me saying how much I disliked kids. I think the word was HATE kids.  Oh sure, there were times when we said we would have one and my darling of a husband, E1, would stay at home. You know, daddy day care while mommy was out with some killer corporate gig.

I didn't plan on things happening like they did, that's for sure.  Around six months after E1 and I said our "I-do's" I started getting that itch. At first it was an annoyance, like dry knuckles in late January. Eventually, the itch was flaming on-the-bottom-of-your-foot-but-you're-wearing-boots kind of itch. Luckily, E1 and I soon realized we were on the same trajectory. Just after our first wedding anniversary we went to an early breakfast. He asked the question I had said no to a dozen times over: Do you want to have kids?

Yes.

Wow.  Me too. When?

Now. 

I wanted a kid NOW. We settled on trying to start a family with the upcoming new year.  Except, about six weeks later, we learned I was already pregnant with our first son, E2. Talk about a Divine Plan. 

E2 proved to be a handful and a heartful at the same time. Before his second birthday we were already trying for number dos. I had decided with an even stronger conviction that I was ready for a sibling for our wild man.

*

Infertility is a bitch. It's so fucking frustrating to be able to get pregnant so easily the first time, and then have such a struggle to get knocked up a second time. The ass kicker was, twice I got pregnant. But I couldn't STAY pregnant outside of late first trimester. I'm not retelling the story now as I do frequently, but you can read about my last miscarriage experience here. I can honestly say, I went into a deep depression more than even I realized. I was a hollowed shell of a wife, mother and friend. I wasn't remotely myself.

Eventually things turned around. We got to start trying again. Each month more rode on the line, but each month had hope. Hope, really, was all we had. We had decided we would try three cycles with the help of hormone fertility aids before moving into the more invasive IUI and IVF treatments. Quickly we found ourselves on our third and final round of "natural" cycles. E2 was now three years old and begging for a Baby Brudder.  Each time he said it, my heart cracked a little more.

Then, the day after my 10 year high school reunion (which I drank way too much at), and my birthday I took a test, again. The third one that week. It was surprisingly double stripped. I was pregnant again! I already had my appointment scheduled with my OBGYN for the next day. It was to be the day I was introduced to my fertility specialist. There was no need!

I had a miserable bitch of a pregnancy with E3. I didn't care. I was induced at 41 weeks and wouldn't wish being induced on anyone. It was awful.

E3's heartbeat was all over the place during induction, wouldn't stay on the monitor and Husband Dearest was a jittery mess. After 16 hours of transitional labor I finally dilated from a three to a ten in less than two minutes. The doctor had to run across the hospital parking lot to make the delivery. I pushed once.

E3 was not born breathing and was slightly blue. I remember like in a dream Dr. H saying "don't hold your breath on me" and the look on Husband Dearest's face. Then he cried. A screech and a cry. A quick wipe off, a snip of the cord and immediately at my breast to nurse.  Just shy of 10lbs and not as long a big brother, our little Pinecone (E2's nickname for E3) was here.

*

I never wanted to be a mom. As I sit on the couch not quite 9 months since that day with a big kid resting on my shoulder and a little one dreaming in his crib I can clearly say that I was put on this earth with a purpose from God. The purpose was to be a mom to my sweet boys.