Mourning the Loss of My Never Babies

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I had never cried myself to sleep until the night we came home from Bobby’s vasectomy consultation. Let me remind you, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer not too terribly long ago and never once did I cry myself to sleep over that. Were there some sleepless nights? Sure. But it was truly a first for me to cry myself to sleep. It took 32 years and it still unnerves me a little bit when I think about it.

We always have impeccable timing, so two days short of Knox’s first birthday, Bobby went in for the big appointment. I cried on the way to the doctor’s office. I cried when they called us back. I cried as I sat in the waiting room while he was being, uhm, snipped. That’s a lot of crying. Especially for someone who — wait for it — doesn’t know if I even want more kids and really can’t even have more children if I did.

Confused? Yeah. Me too.

So I mentioned the whole cancer ordeal which would make getting pregnant again not only a logistical nightmare but would make the long road ahead even more difficult to overcome. You see, my cancer is estrogen positive (as well as progesterone and HER2 positive), which means it feeds off the hormone that essentially drives the whole growing a human process. When my oncologist suggested I get on birth control and I questioned what would happen if I were to turn up pregnant, her response was, “It wouldn’t be ideal.” Well, okay then.

Also, I don’t think I even want more kids. My relationships with Presley and Knox are so fantastic. Our little four-person family is finally hitting a rhythm. I am solidly inside the motherhood ranks, which is honestly a place I never even imagined myself growing up. I was terrified of motherhood before I had Presley. Then I was terrified I wouldn’t love Knox as much as I did his sister. That’s honestly enough terror for one mommy. I’m loving this season of life. Watching them grow into their individual personalities and watching them fall in love with each other. I can also see the proverbial homestretch in the not-too-distant future. The nirvana state of no diapers, no teething, no up all night, no bottle washing, no crying without words to explain what’s wrong. Being able to reconnect and have a meal with my husband without having to breastfeed or cut up a tiny human’s food sounds pretty appealing. Throw in the added cost of private school for a possible third kid and the rapid rate at which I buy children’s clothing, getting pregnant again would be financially irresponsible as well.

So why am I crying? Why in the world, when all signs point to “not interested,” do I ache for the “not possible”? I’m not sure if there’s a real word for it so I’m just going to make one up. Please indulge my conflicted, aching heart. I’m mourning the loss of my never babies.

Never babies. The babies your heart would have instantly grown to accommodate the extra love that comes with the blessing of every child even though your family feels complete. The babies that I would secretly love getting up in the middle of the night with just to spend some extra time learning their bodies and praying to God that they love me as intensely as I love them. The babies your soul would instantly know the second the nurse placed them in your arms. The babies that would be just different enough from their siblings to make you doubt you ever knew anything about raising kids. The babies that your whole family would shower with excitement and love and support. The babies that your body and theirs would have been cosmically sewn together in that unbreakable mommy-baby bond. The babies that would fit beautifully into family photos because they are the perfect mix of my husband and me. The babies that, like my other two, I would wonder how I ever lived without. The babies that would have made the additional craziness totally, incredibly, unquestionably worth it. 

I love our life as it is, but the loss of “what if” is haunting me lately. I am a hot mess around anybody that’s pregnant or just had a baby. It’s not jealousy (or maybe it is) but the emotions are inescapable, which is so opposite my “move on/what’s next” personality. Bobby keeps looking at me like I’m crazy whenever I dissolve into quiet tears when I tell him of another friend announcing her pregnancy or I get glassy-eyed when we pass a stranger with a big belly on the street. “Haley! We don’t even want more kids!” You shut your mouth with your man logic and lack of hormones. 

It didn’t make sense until I tried to explain to my dad today how I was feeling and he said, “When would it be enough? Would three be enough? Or eight? If you had eight, would you want nine?”

Probably.

Because although I do think about those beautiful, cosmic never babies, I think I also just long for the joy that a baby brings. Maybe in the shadow of a year with lots of unpleasant news, a positive pregnancy test would be something so undeniably joyous. A baby. New life. New beginnings. Love. Happiness. But that would be indulgent and unfair to my husband, my Presley, my Knox, and my own body. There are a lot of things that bring you happiness and a lot of situations that your life will stretch to accommodate, but unfortunately for me, my circumstances call for a finality that is out of my control and that is a hard pill to swallow.

The wonderful thing is, I do have two beautiful babies already. This shining truth brings me peace. It also breaks my heart because I have had a brief encounter with the feelings that my friends and loved ones must feel while dealing with infertility. You want something so pure and wonderful that’s just outside of your reach. 

I will forever be thankful for God’s perfect timing. Knox was a bit of a surprise, but he’s my miracle baby. If it weren’t for breastfeeding him, I may not have found my tumor. Now every time I hold him or see him laughing at Presley I can’t imagine my life any different. We’re exactly where we should be and it’s all exactly as God planned it. 

I may shed a few more tears along the way for my never babies, but that does not diminish the joy I have each and every day with my family. It’s the closing of a chapter and an opening of my arms to a future full of love and memories with my husband and children. An ending, for sure, but a continuation of the blessings and abundant gifts God has bestowed upon me in my first 32 years. I’m oh-so-thankful to be their mommy and for the life I get to live every day.

 

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Haley I
Haley is an Alabama native who swore she would never end up back in Birmingham after college but has fallen in love with her city all over again since she graduated from the University of Alabama in 2007. With a degree in Advertising and Public Relations and a double minor in Marketing and English, Haley has always had a passion for helping the companies she's worked for grow their brands and make a positive impact in their communities. Haley is currently the Marketing Director at GrandView Financial Group and also does independent marketing consulting for causes she feels passionate about like the revitalization effort projects in downtown Birmingham. Haley is the proud wife of ten years to her chicken farming husband, Bobby. They have a seven-year-old daughter, Presley, who is as wonderfully affectionate as she is athletic, and Knox, five years old, who will undoubtedly have his own Netflix comedy special one day if he doesn't decide to follow in his dad's hardworking, farmer boots one day. In December of 2016, Haley was diagnosed with Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer which has colored her life with a beautiful appreciation that most people don't get to experience. Don't count cancer a hobby, though. Haley is into sports talk radio, always playing hostess for friends and family and capturing life's precious moments with pictures and words as often as possible.

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