I saw a new doctor about my PCOS. For starters, he knows a lot about the issues. Apparently there are different kinds of PCOS that have different treatments; the more you know, huh? Anyway, he's been the first doctor to say "There's a good chance, once we get things figured out, you could get pregnant."
Ever since that day, about 2 weeks ago, I've thought about babies. It's one thing to declare how happy I am childless, having been told I'm incapable of having children. I brag about my free time and loose budget. I post Cracked articles on my Facebook about not having kids. I stay up until 3 and wake up at noon. (I'm, once again, jobless. But that's a story for another day)
Long story short, outwardly, I'm pleased as punch to be childfree. But thinking that I can't have kids, and learning to accept that is really different than having those same conversations with myself knowing there might be a chance to conceive. I think about the arguments I use. Honestly, my sleep schedule changes with a new job. My mother-in-law or my own mom would be super OK with watching the kid, pretty much whenever. Money would be tight, but I spend as much as I have. When we first got married and were super poor, I splurged $20 at Goodwill. Now I blow $75 at Sephora without blinking an eye.
To make things more complicated, my husband doesn't really want babies. Which I'm having a hard time accepting, because he was very much "BABIES AS MANY AS WE CAN HAVE" when we first got married. Part of me thinks it's because he's gotten quite used to coming home from work, and playing computer games until he's ready for bed and playing Magic:The Gathering every weekend.
But another part of me is afraid he's anti bio-child because he thinks I'd be a horrible mother. And I'll admit, I was miserable with the foster kids. But my uterus is saying it's because they weren't mine, that I never bonded with them, and and and...Not to mention my myriad of psychological issues and how badly I reacted to my 11 weeks of pregnancy when we first got married.
It's a war. My brain is saying "No. You don't want this. You had a horrid childhood and don't know how to parent. You have a hard time connecting, you're impatient, and often not nice. Why would you put a poor, defenseless kid through your nonsense?"
Yet, even with all that, my uterus is telling me that maybe why I can't seem to stick with a job is because I'm really meant to be a SAHM. Which brings up the financial aspect...
I almost wish after my uterine biopsy, the doc would say "Yeah. It's totally broken. We're going to have to pull it out." And then take the choice out of things.