I grew up as the eldest of three children and the only girl; we are each two years apart in age give or take a couple of months. From the time I was quite young I knew that when I got around to having kids myself that I wanted them to be relatively close in age as I found relating to my brothers difficult at times. It may have been that I was particularly mature for my age or that I was dealing with younger boys, but I found two years to be the maximum time that I would want between children.
I also knew that I didn't want to have three kids, probably because of the dynamic that most often left me feeling like the odd one out, though I was also aware when one of my brothers was the one left out. Having an only child was never really a consideration because I didn't much like the only children that I did know, and I didn't want a child of mine to miss out on a sibling relationship (particularly after I and my future husband had passed away).
When I finally met my husband, I was a month shy of my 30th birthday. He was 34. We didn't waste time in starting talk about a family and what our ideals were, as both of us were focused on finding a life mate and didn't want to waste too much time. My husband is a real planner and admitted to having 5-year and 10-year plans and that he had already overshot his deadline of getting married by a few years. I confessed to premonitions from age 17 that I wouldn't be ready to marry until I was at least 23, and certainly not ready for children until 28. Interestingly, the baby cravings hit hard when I was 28.
Fast forward to 2004 when, after three years of trying on our own, we finally had our first real appointment with the RE. He seemed nice enough, but a bit detached -- like it was far too routine and verging on uninteresting. In hindsight, I can understand his point of view. The thing was, that with the testing behind us, he simply handed me a prescription for Clomid and told me how to go about testing for a surge (not that I hadn't been doing that already) and calling in to book an IUI. We were very lucky that summer, conceiving our son on our very first ART cycle.
While pregnant with Little R, I renewed our early conversations about how large a family we would like. He remained constant at 'two'. I suggested that I would like either two or four. We agreed that neither of us wanted just one, and he could see my point about three, he being the youngest of three (though with his sister eight years his senior and his two-year-older brother having Down Syndrome, the dynamic was significantly different). We left it at that.
Once Little R was born my mind was made up. I swiftly fell so deeply and certainly in love with this little man that I clearly knew I had to have four, and convincing my husband wasn't so difficult either. After the haze of the first postpartum months lifted, I decided that a year-and-a-half between children would be best. That way, the kids would be close enough in age to relate well to one another and I should be done childbearing by about my 39th birthday.
When Little R was eight months, we had another visit with the RE to talk about cycling again right away. He didn't want me to continue breastfeeding, as the little guy didn't need the hormones that could come through my breastmilk, so to ensure we were able to start immediately, Little R was weaned very abruptly (something I don't recommend, in part because it was exceedingly painful!). I wasn't ready to stop breastfeeding and I'm not sure Little R was completely prepared, but it had to be done. I assumed that within another few months I would be pregnant again and we would have our roughly 18-month spacing. No such luck.
It took a year of pushing my RE as hard as he would let me go and undergoing increasingly invasive treatments and tests (including a laparoscopy and a miscarriage with resultant D&C) to get to IVF. I tried to be optimistic each time that the next step would work, and was increasingly frustrated that my ideal family was quickly being pushed out of possibility's realm. I was ever antsy to start the next cycle to again hope for success.
As with our first Clomid-IUI, our first IVF went very well. You can read in the archives of how ecstatic I was to discover we could be having two babies, as this put me back on track for actually having four children before I reach 40 in spite of the two-and-a-half years that would now space Little R from his siblings.
As an aside, I chose 40 as a deadline because I don't want to be too old to enjoy my children as they grow and start families of their own. Theoretically, my fertility (or that which can be classed as fertility in an infertile) should be okay until then as my mother was born to my grandmother at 37 and her sister followed when my grandmother was 40. That same aunt had her own second child at 40. On the other side, my paternal grandmother had her fourth child at 37. My husband was born to his mother at 40 as well. Our diagnosis is 'unexplained'.
The curious thing too is that we've effectively pre-empted the first of the acceptable family configurations -- two children. We're going from the not-so-desirable only child to the similarly-not-so-desirable three-child family. I feel that it's fate telling me that four is the right decision.
I've already been thinking about the FET that will follow the birth of the twins. Depending upon how things go, I'd like to start trying again before they're a year old. I've imagined the insanity of having a 4-year-old, two 1.5-year-olds and a newborn in the house, but while it might be crazy for a while, it is temporary, and hopefully will keep my kids connected with each other.
Labels: Little R, Trying to Conceive, Twins