Dear Little Ones

Dear Little Ones,

I've been wanting to write to you for such a long time. But I haven't. I think it's because I feel so guilty, that I don't have a right to talk to you, since I made the decision that pretty much ensures that I'll never get to meet you. With that said, however, I think about you everyday.

A lot has happened since I last actually wrote you. I have conversations with you in my head at times, but they're just bits and pieces of things.

Since you live in my heart, I know that you know that I'm dating a guy named Justin. I haven't told him about you little ones yet. Not that I'm ashamed, just because I want him to love you as much as I do, and I want to find the perfect way to bring it up. I don't want to scare him by saying these things; I don't want him to get the idea that I'm trying to hint at anything or suggest anything, I'm not. I have unborn children that I love and that I think about. He knows that my inability to conceive you hurts me deeply. He's held me while I've cried. He's guarded my eyes when babies and surrogacy are talked about on tv.

What he doesn't know is that sometimes, when I look at him, I get sad. I see his freckles, and know they would be adorable on you. I wonder if he would yell at us for playing with our asparagus or our mashed potatoes that he prepared for dinner. I wonder if his parents know they will never meet you.

Again, no pressure on him or me and him as a couple. Just things I think about.

I feel really uncomfortable talking to you now, since my pain has returned. Or it's a new pain. No one can tell me what's going on. For a couple weeks since my pain started, I wouldn't even let myself think that my hyst was in vain, that I gave you up for nothing. I couldn't think this way. It was a self preserving mechanism my mind came up with, because I could not deal with that thought plus the return of the pain. But now that I've settled into the pain management mode, it creeps into my mind.

When I chose to have my hysterectomy, I thought it was the most selfish and selfless things I could ever do. Selfish because I wanted to be out of pain from adenomyosis. Selfless because you deserved a mother who was pain free, which I could never be as long as my diseased uterus was within me. I loved you so much that I could never bring you into this world.

And even now, with my pain returning, whether a short term or long term thing, whether I somehow defied the odds of the endo regrowing or it's just scar tissue, the history of endo/adeno, and my sinus problems...I would never wish you to endure either. This puts the option of surrogacy in serious jeopardy.

I read a book recently entitled "Handle with Care" in which a mother considers testifying in court that if she had known sooner about her daughter's disability, would she have still brought her into this world?

I know no matter what I would love you. I love you now, and I don't know your eye color, the shape of your ears, the sound of your laugh, the grip of your fingers. I just think I love you too much to let you suffer the way I have, since it seems my health problems run in the family. Or do I bring you into this world in hopes that a cure with be discovered for endo, adeno, and nasal polyps?

Would you read "Handle with Care" after battling your illnesses, be itching to ask me if knowing what I knew how your life would be for sure, would I have made the same decision to bring you into this world?

Now of course, I don't know for certain that you would inherit the illnesses I have dealt with. But do I take that chance?

And who am I to make such a decision, really? To decide whether the joy of a baseball game with you outweighs the days you might be spent curled up with a heating pad. To decide whether sitting with you as you learn to read outweighs the nasal steroids. How am I to make this decision someday?

It can be said that my dealing with chronic illnesses would make me a better mother to you should you be ill. But I cannot be the parent my dad has been to me. He had the money, the health insurance, the resources to get me to the best doctors in the country. I will not be able to provide you with that.

What this all boils down to is that I love you. I want the best for you.

Maybe that's existing in some form that isn't born on this Earth.

I also know that this decision isn't to be made yet. If ever. Some days it's on my mind, some days it's not.

I hope this letter makes sense, little ones. I still grieve my loss stemming from my hysterectomy. I feel horribly barren. Sometimes my thoughts are irrational and don't make a lot of sense. They're just clouded in love as I try to move on, while still loving you.