The Clock is Ticking

I see the family’s at the mall. The ones pushing a stroller with a bored toddler crying for attention. The parents don’t notice. They are to involved in their cell phones to notice, or at least be annoyed enough by the sound of their flesh and blood crying to bother themselves to comfort the child. And then your husband shows you the news and there is a story of a woman dumping three babies in a dumpster, the first two dying, the third being saved by a passer by who randomly happened to be the screaming infants father. And then there is Facebook. Everyone posting pictures of their big round bellies of great expectations. I envy their innocence. What they don’t think could possibly happen to them. At age twenty-nine I also had great expectations. Six pounds and one ounce of pure baby. Her name was Avery. She was a beautiful chubby baby with rosy cheeks and dark hair. She never took a breath outside my body, so to many people it greatly diminishes the value of her life and the grief that as her mother I feel. There is lots of eye rolling on my behalf. No one wants to talk about Avery. Avery is a dirty word. But I want to talk about her. I have memories. She lived her whole life inside of me. She was my Avery girl. I’m not stupid. I know that I cannot get her back. I know another baby won’t replace her. What my arms and my heart want with this nagging hell that is a cross between feeling hurt, and feeling sick right in the pit of my stomach is to try again. Respect that almost two years has been a good grieving point and push forward. But something is different now. I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of Thirty. Now we have to slow down and look at this potential pregnancy differently. We have to take into account we dodged a major bullet that our two living daughters are not showing any symptoms of ADHD and if Avery had it, it died with her. What if we run out of luck on the ADHD wheel of fun and get a child that has ADHD. But what if I didn’t have ADHD and it was heart disease that ran in my family. Would I give it a second thought ? And would it be horrible if the child had ADHD? Am I so unloveable god forbid I have a child just like me? I am a productive member of society, I box, I’m active in my children’s school, I take very good care of my children. I stay on top of their commitments as well as my own. Without the stimulants and as a united front with my husband, to date we have raised two little girls who are smart, funny, excellent students, never get in trouble, never ask for anything unless we tell them we can . They are respectful of their teachers and their peers. And I did that before the diagnosis . So would I be burdening another child if it inherited my ADHD? It’s a tough call. I don’t think it isn’t a reason not move forward. I certainly have not gotten this baby ‘thing’ out of my head. I think a baby would bring a lot of happiness to our home . As far as the ADHD goes , maybe I would be the best mother for that child. One who is compassionate and understanding. Oh wait I already am that mother to my living children. And then there is a chance that the child would not inherit ADHD at all. But there are no guarantees’ in this life. My husband and I have certainly taken what life has grown at us this far, what’s one more time? We survived Mallory and seizures and Sydney the climber and delivering Avery, our child born an angel. We handled it all. And I have ADHD. I know we can do it all, as long as we do it together. And having another baby falling asleep on my chest, making little baby sounds, smelling like little baby’s do… I’ve done it before the diagnosis. As soon as I wear my husband down I will do it again .

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