There were a few folks that still didn’t believe that we were serious. It got to the point where I almost photo-documented my IUD insertion just to show that, “Yes! We are that serious!”
Apparently we are also that “selfish.” I continued to hear that sentiment with each passing year away from my son’s birth, from people both close to me and those who were not.
I’d be lying if I said that those words didn’t hurt just a bit. For a while I mistook the hurt for having made the wrong decision. I would studiously watch families of four or more whenever we went out, trying to make sure I hadn’t glossed over something we were truly missing. I tried to better understand the feelings that bubbled to the surface as I watched young siblings play, and laugh, and share secrets together.
Countless nights I would find myself awake, lying restless in bed, trying to decide if I should march down to my midwife’s office the next morning, demanding she remove the IUD, so my husband and I could begin working on kid number two later that night.