This indecision’s bugging me…

I am supremely bored of making this choice.

I don’t remember some miraculous, shining, moment in which firebloke and I held each other and cried and decided we would be brave and have another baby. It happened by degrees, and at different rates to each other. It goes back and forth too.

Lately we’ve sort of kind of, maybe, probably decided we should think about trying again. Or maybe not yet. But yeah, go to the clinic and get things sorted and ready. But now might not be the best time. But I saw a cute baby today. But I re-read something I wrote for a midwives conference and sh*t myself so no, not now, not yet. Awww but firegirl said she wanted a brother. Though it’s not quite the right time at work…

You see? BORING.

This prevarication is not unlike the decision making process the first time around, but we had the naive excitement that only first time parents can have then. People assured us that there was no right time and we should just go for it, so we did. We took a leap of faith and just did it (reliving that moment is like watching the soldier promise his sweetheart he’ll be home for Christmas in  a cheesy war film).

We’re far more cautious now. A second pregnancy  will not only trigger the usual involvement of the GP and the midwife, but an obstetric consultant (prolonged labour, postpartum haemorrhage and suspected pre-eclampsia), a perinatal psychiatrist, a community psychiatric nurse, a liaison health visitor, and at my own request, a perinatal psychologist. All before I’ve even given birth!

Our lives will not be our own again for a long while, and whilst I appreciate the support I must admit I’m dreading the onslaught. I’ve never been particularly great at accepting help and have to make a conscious effort to force myself, resisting my natural urge to close ranks when I’m struggling. The thought of that many people intruding in our lives again, on top of family…just…ugh. 

There’s no right time, but there are wrong times. The stern, matriarchal advice of my psychiatrist has made me very cautious, and I think I’m in danger of trying to over plan this pregnancy. That would NOT be a good situation to be in (Margaret Oates writes about ‘the conservatory set’; high-achieving, high-self control, middle class mothers  who expect too much of motherhood and fall apart when it, and they, are inevitably imperfect. Hmm has she been peering in my windows??)

There’s no nicely wrapped up ending to this post, sorry.  If I can’t have a neat resolution, you can’t either. You get to feel the frustration of my paralysis. Lucky you. 

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