Life Has a Funny Way of Helping You Out

Through my 30s; I realized that the women around me were getting married, having kids, moving to the suburbs. I was busy partying, eventually getting married; but convinced that I was too selfish to be a mom. I was climbing the corporate ladder, focusing on titles, responsibility and salary. I didn’t want anyone to be dependent on me. There were so many important things for me to do in the world. Having a big impact on healthcare or climate meant that I didn’t have time to change diapers.

Somewhere along the way I changed my mind. In true ENTP fashion, I treated having kids like a project. Unsuccessful in conceiving; we simultaneously went down the fertility and adoption routes. Anyone who has been down the fertility path knows that it is a PROCESS. You are encouraged to try increasingly stronger drugs and interventions, perhaps acupuncture, herbs, meditation, rubbing babies’ heads, and of course IVF – the latter generally not covered by insurance and costing a whopping $20-30k per round. I heard about couples that had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars, yet still unsuccessful. At my age, the chances of success of any given round were, at best, 40%. We decided we’d do everything else, but not IVF.

We brought home our first child through adoption; a beautiful, healthy boy who I was convinced knew that I wasn’t his mom. He cried all the time, and I had no idea what I was doing. I was tired all the time, had no control over when I ate or went to the bathroom. I felt like a failure.

A month after we brought him home, I did another round of IUI. We had 4 failed rounds before; most were marked by me so hopped up on hormones that I threw a phone at my husband. But I had been an only child and had always wanted a sibling - I wanted that for my son, imagining a big loud family like in the movies.

As it turned out, it was not safe to continue the IUI this cycle, but I could do IVF. I had already taken the drugs, and the doctor offered me ‘half price’ ($15,000) if we moved forward immediately. She sent me home with a specific injection I needed to take that night; and said it was a good deal.

My husband was clear– no IVF, but said it was my decision. I wasn’t sure. I had a beautiful son at home. I was tired and emotional. Was I disrespecting my newborn son by wanting another child? Would his life be better as an only? Was it even a good idea to have another kid? What about climate change? Why couldn’t I just make this decision?

As I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom, I took the cap off the syringe and placed it in the vial. I lifted my shirt to inject the hormone into my belly, the way I had so many times before. For some reason, I looked up at myself in the mirror, something I wouldn’t typically have done. I don’t recall having any thoughts, or an epiphany. I just stood there and looked at myself with the shot pointed at my stomach. Then I dropped my shirt, put the full syringe down, threw the syringe and the vial away, and left the bathroom.

I don’t remember what I did directly after. I recall thinking that that had been the moment I had chosen, failed to have any more children. I didn’t really feel anything but empty and alone.

Fast forward two months, and the doctor agreed to one more round. But she warned me that it was unlikely to be successful. But I felt I needed to wash away the regret from that experience in the bathroom. If this didn’t work, I could have closure to this many years’ long quest, a journey I hadn’t even really intended to take. I could pour myself into my son, my work, and my perfect dog. We had been lucky with our adoption; I had heard difficult stories from other friends in our cohort. It felt selfish to still want more.

I had a positive at home pregnancy test. But this had happened before. As I lay on the table in the exam room with an ultrasound wand, I prepared for the inevitable disappointment. Instead, the nurse announced not one, but two healthy heartbeats. My husband started to pace back and forth, and we explained that we had a three-month-old at home. “Irish Triplets!” she exclaimed.

I’m not sure what the moral of this story is. I have been through my father’s illness and death of cancer, a divorce, my mother’s Alzheimer’s, Covid as a working single mom of elementary school kids, a cancer scare, lots of career blows, relationship issues, some very scary health stuff with my kids – but also lots of wonderful blessings as well. The most incredible of those is being surrounded by my three children.

I’ve been surprised to discover that I love being their mom. Not only do I not resent the dependence as I thought I would - but I love the daily opportunity to give them chances to be a little bit less so. They make me laugh. I have my big, loud family and it sounds like so much cursing ; ). I feel so proud when they, as they so often do these days, accomplish something they have not accomplished before. Just about everything I do is for them. And somewhere after I had kids; the ‘T’ in my Meyers-Briggs changed to an ‘F’.

There are things in life you can control, and things you cannot. All you can do is know what really matters to you - all else is just noise. Let that drive your decisions.

In the words of Alanis Morrisette, “Life has a funny way, of helping you out…helping you out.”

-Rebecca M.