Shuttering the uterus
Let’s start by spoiling the narrative arc. This is not a story about pregnancy, but about no more pregnancy. And I’m sorry if anyone reads it and feels broken-hearted because I can (in theory) have more babies when other women can’t have any.
Last week my walk to the office took a detour to the hospital pharmacy. (I work next to a hospital.) This time I wasn’t going there to pick up a trigger shot or some clomid as I had many times before, but because I needed a pregnancy test. I was four days late, which is VERY unusual for me. And while I’d taken a test the day before and seen a clear negative, the test was quite expired, and my period was still missing. So it had occurred to me that it might be wise to stop by the closest thing to a drug store in my immediate environment to get a fresh test. As I walked through the door of the hospital I detected that suspicious feeling in my nethers, and instead headed for the bathroom. Where I was greeted by buckets of gore. I was glad.
What’s more, when I’d taken the expired test, the thought that was going through my head as I waited was: I can’t do it again. More pregnancy, more c-section recovery, more diapers, more baby gates, more sleep deprivation, more toddlers… And I felt that way when pregnancy, c-section recovery, sleep deprivation, toddlers have all been about as easy as they can be.
This is radically different from how I felt a year ago. Then the thought of not having those experiences (I mean, pregnancy, newborn-ness…not so much DIAPERS! C-sections!) made me burst into tears. I couldn’t imagine moving on. But things have slowly changed. Life is so much easier than it used to be, and people keep telling me it gets easier still. It’s hard to give that up. And I’ve gradually come to realize that the parts I want to have again (the amazing experience that is having a tiny baby) are really fleeting. And even if I had ten children, I would probably still long for that part.
So I think that’s it. I think the uterus is retired.
Except…we have a name for the third fetus. Bunter. I feel like I am betraying Bunter by not letting him escape from my ovaries. I feel like he would have been so amazing, and how can I make a conscious decision to not meet him?
But we also had a name for the fourth fetus. Bundle.
And the 5th. Bunting.
It’s Buns all the way down.
I suppose that my previous experiences can serve me well, here. I don’t need to rush or DO anything (other than telling Mr. Bunny it’s time to consider a vasectomy).
Time will pass and I will find a way to say goodbye to Bunter.