Child of my dreams

It is only a few months after we had the twins. We are driving down the freeway, to where I don't remember. Somehow the conversation has turned to the fact that we have only sons.

"Well, you know, honey," I say to him, "We could always still adopt a girl."

"No. No we couldn't," is his instant reply. Four children is enough. We are happy with all boys.

I remember my heart breaking a little.

*****************

We started trying for a baby in July. I took a negative pregnancy test a month later. And another two weeks later. And another, and another. For two months, there was no indication that I wasn't pregnant. But also no indication that I was.

We saw my OB/GYN. Four months of Clomid to start, we'll see what happens from there.

And that's when J.R. and I made a pact--we would do nothing more than Clomid.

We were fortunate to already have our two oldest sons. We did not want to be selfish. They needed our time, our attention, our sanity. Four months of Clomid. That was it.

I was informed by a reproductive endocrinologist that my pregnancy with Noah was a "fluke," and I would likely never get pregnant again without IUI or IVF. Without the things that J.R. and I had sworn not to do. I was basically told "tough luck."

I was not reacting well to the stress, not just the infertility, but everything that was happening during that time. My blood pressure had shot up to unhealthy levels. We decided to quit trying until after the holidays. It had been a challenging five months, even without the infertility. We needed time to let it all sink in.

I began to investigate adoption. But with our life so intertwined with Aaron's mom, I couldn't accept the idea of another biological mother to answer to. Closed adoption is rare in the U.S.

A friend of mine was considering adopting a special needs child from China. International adoption seemed trendy and difficult, but also perfect. Maybe.

There were still those three more months we promised ourselves.

I started on Clomid again in January...not pregnant.

I investigated adoption agencies and countries. I bought books and requested materials.

February...not pregnant.

J.R. and I sat down and had a serious talk. We chose a country. Narrowed down the agencies. Said we would give it one more try.

March...our last month--my last chance--and I screwed up my dose of Clomid. I didn't even take half of what I was supposed to.

I filled out the paperwork. We began getting our papers in order. We made plans for the kids while we traveled, for when that day eventually came.

We knew we wanted to adopt a girl. I dreamt of her. I pictured how I would decorate her room. I browsed online for bedding. I fingered dresses in stores, knowing I would get to by them, if not soon, at least someday. I thought about hair brushes and braids and little bows. J.R. and I laughed about dating and make-up and teenage girl clothes. I dreamt of my little girl's first dance with her daddy at her wedding, a moment I never had and could only dream about for her.

I had to assure the agency that I was not pregnant. I couldn't do that without a test. So we picked one up on our next trip to the market. We came home, I took the test and left it in the bathroom while we unpacked groceries.

When everything had been done, I thought of the test sitting on the counter.

Two pink lines. Two defiant and impossible pink lines.

With those lines, a dream came true. But a dream was also shattered.

I didn't know who she was yet, but I knew she was mine. I knew she would come home to her two big brothers and live a life that would never have been possible for her where she had been born.

There was already a space for her in my heart. A space uniquely hers that no one else could fill. An empty space now.

There has not been a single moment that I have regretted getting pregnant with the twins. They renewed me in a sad and desperate time. They more than completed the family I thought I was meant to have.

They are my sons. My last and precious sons. My unlikely and unhoped for gifts.

But they can't fill that empty space. The space that hurt when I had to tell the agency "Not right now." The space that hurt when I got emails from agency mailing lists I'd joined.

It is not their fault. My four boys have given me more than I ever dreamed of having. I have more joy than I ever imagined possible. I know that had I never let myself dream, I would never dream of asking for more.

It is difficult to reconcile wanting more with knowing that I am content with what I have. It is difficult to imagine one more.

But I made that space. I let it open up, imagine, and dream. I can't make it go away.

*****************

We are watching Noah's tee ball game on Saturday afternoon.

"All the kids are cute out there, but those little girls are adorable," he tells me.

"You're the one who didn't want the stress of a girl," I tease him back.

"I never said I didn't want one..." His voice trails.

"We still have the option," I remind him. "It could still happen."

"We'll see," he says, looking not at me but at the field of children.

We both know it would take a small miracle for us to be able to support another child right now.

But in those words, those two small and simple words, there is hope.

Hope.