18 Months Later

I’ve been so absent from blogging I don’t even dare trying to backtrack and fill in the gaps.

Some days I wish I could just freeze time so I could document every little moment. PB is growing up so fast that I am afraid to blink. I try to remember to stop and just be in the now with him as I try to soak in all these memories. The way his tiny hands feel in mine, the way fresh babies out of the bath smell. The fact that he loves to settle down right before milk in my lap. I know it won’t always be this way and I just want to absorb as much as I can.

I probably should stop calling him Poodle Baby. He’s not a baby anymore. He’s a big boy. We tell him that all the time it seems like. We are now just past 18 months old. Favorite word is “NOOOOOOOO”. We do use Mama, daddy (or dada), Bandit (our dog), Kitty (at least it’s no longer titty, and Brewski the actual cat name has proven to be too hard so far), shoes, keys, goooooooooo (easy right, it rhymes with no!), cookie, Melmo (Elmo), tank you (thank you), baba (milk), night night, bye bye, hi, alo (how he thinks we say hello while holding objects to a phone to his head). Those are the ones off the top of my head although I know there are more. Some we like to hear more than others obviously.

The cuteness is overwhelming and SURPRISE—It’s my favorite age yet. He cuddles and snuggles and tells us when he wants to go to bed about 8pm each night. He self-weaned the end of our nursing right at 18 months/a week before maybe. In some ways I am not sure I was ready, but I was more comfortable with him being done on his own schedules vs. mine. He has a great temperament, he really only fusses when he’s super tired, and has a laugh that makes it impossible not to smile.

We hear a lot “He’s so adorable, when will you have another?” The question still stings. Even after the success and miracle of PB after an infertility journey, even friends close to us forget it’s not as easy as just “deciding when”. Their intentions are good. He IS adorable. And he’s finally 17 months later sleeping through the night <sigh of relief>. I often give the canned answer “maybe someday”. Or “we’d love to.” That usually does the trick reminding people it’s not a matter of wanting. We have three frozen embryos that we pay an arm and a leg to store—trust me, we think about it all the time. Are we ready to go through the process all over again? While the process wouldn’t be as complex without another egg retrieval, it still means medicines and those dreaded progesterone shots. Truthfully I am not scared about that part anymore. I am however scared of the what ifs. What if it doesn’t work? What if we exhaust those last three chances at miracles? There is hope in those canisters. The minute that we move forward, it’s make or break.

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