Yesterday at feeding therapy there was an adorable brand new baby. He was perfect right down to his wrinkles and his skinny little feet. One of my close friends just had a new little girl, too (congrats, Candi!). It seems like there are new babies everywhere.
I would love to add to that mix but I'm chicken. Doctors have told me that there's a 30% chance that I would get HELLP again. A 70% chance of it not happening is really pretty good odds, but the stakes are a little high for me. Everytime I think about having a baby I get flashbacks to that night when I was shoved a c-section consent form and told that there was no time to go over surgery risks, but none of them were worse than dying (which is what would happen if I didn't get into surgery right then). That was a scary time, but how much scarier would it be with a very needy little boy waiting at home? How could I knowingly risk my life knowing that my little Noah needs me?
We said that we would "never say never" until I turned 34, but I think we're at "probably never" at this point. Maybe amazing new therapies will come out in the next 5 years that will change my mind. Maybe Noah will grow into such a capable little man (or my parents will finally move local) and the idea of long term bedrest won't seem so daunting. Maybe we'll have an "Oops" baby. Who knows.
Then of course there's the issue of adoption. I would love to adopt but it's so expensive. And then of course there's the issue of disability. If I adopt a "normal" child will Noah think I'm trying to replace him because he's not good enough? Am I willing to take on the responsibility of a second disabled child? I just don't know.
I suppose in time these questions will answer themselves. But when I see new babies I can't help mourning a little what a probably won't have.