Infertility has a weird way of rearing its ugly head when you least expect it.

Since the twins were born, I’ve been very “99% sure” I am happy with our family the way it is. Bryan is still trying to convince me otherwise, and my answer was always the same: probably not, don’t count on it. I even wrote a post on why I was 99% sure we were done. I had planned to donate the embryos. I even felt almost ready to do it.

Then, this picture popped up in my Facebook memories feed:


Since we haven’t yet entered the full “terrible twos” (I’m hearing later twos and threes is much worse), I’ve been really enjoying this age. Language is just exploding. The things they are amused by are hilarious. They learn something new every day, sometimes every hour.  Looking at this picture made me miss it. I stayed home with them for 13 weeks, and then only went back to work twice a week initially and yet I STILL feel like I have very little memory of their infancy.  Maybe its for a good reason, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t stir up some thought. I actually found myself saying to Bryan “IF we have another, we are waiting until they are four”. Wait, when did this become a possibility?

The problem is, I’m not entirely sure if its another child that i want, or if its the CHOICE I wish I had. Yes, we would have some semblance of choice this time around because we know we have good quality frozen embryos, but it isn’t the same. And before anyone goes all “be thankful for what you have and don’t complain” on me, I’m just writing this to help myself figure it out.

Man, they were cute babies.

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