Aidan is amazing.
Honestly somedays (even the tough ones) it’s hard for me to believe I’m a Mumma, especially Aidan’s as he’s the coolest dude on the planet. I may be biased. There will be a moment everyday, without fail, when I will whisk him up into my arms, smoosh my lips into his chubby cheek and tell him how smart / clever / handsome / kind / funny he is.
I sometimes wonder if he’s missing out by not having a sibling.
Aidan is three years old. He’s curious, loves to dance and likes to pick out his own outfits. He knows his ABCs, can count to 20, is fully potty trained, is as cheeky as a monkey from Bali and has the most compassionate soul. He’s changed Steve and I to the core forever, apparently kids seem to do that to you.
I sometimes wonder if we’re missing out by not giving him a sibling.
I’ve been through it all before on the blog, the story hasn’t changed. The same physical hurdles still exist but this time there is more hope. The problem isn’t the probability, for me right now the danger lies in my emotional state. Right now I’m happy and the possibility of becoming depressed and unhappy again for want and trying scares the shit out of me.
I craved Aidan so badly for what felt like an eternity that it almost broke me. I rarely write about those feelings anymore because of the physical reaction I get, even now my chest feels like it’s on fire and about to collapse. I’m not being overly dramatic, ask anyone trying to conceive.
It’s that feeling that makes me squeeze Aidan tighter.
Some women find fertility easier than others, I’m not one of them and I know several of my readers are still waiting, still hoping. When you’re trying and nothings working and no one has any answers, without realising you can find yourself walking though a dark door. An endless hallway of dark doors, of options, blood tests, procedures, injections, tears and heartache.
I’m not sure I can walk through that door again… even if Aidan’s my light.