Warning. This post gets a little personal regarding fertility. Consider yourself warned.
When Ryan and I were going through premarital counseling we were given a list of subjects that we needed to discuss to make sure we were on the same page. I was really nervous about my answers influencing Ryan's and so we agreed to commit our answers on paper before we talked so we could see what the other really wanted. Silly little (almost) newly weds were so willing to give up anything on the spot for the other one to be happy. Ah, young love, I miss you but I really wouldn't trade what we've got. One of the questions was "how many kids do you want." Dun, dun, dun. We wrote our answers and counted to three! As with most of our answers, we had written the exact same thing; three. Then we talked about timing. We said we'd wait about three years and I said I wanted them somewhat close together because I (most of the time) loved being roughly the same age as two of my sisters. Ryan was a little nervous about that. Our plan had been to space our three kids each about a year and a half apart. That would have us getting pregnant with our third in May 2010, June, or July.
Fast forward; after baby one, after baby two, after mono and the sick saga. I said there was no way that I wanted to be pregnant this year since it had been a long time since I had been well. I was a little shocked when Ryan was dissapointed. Just for the record, he was supportive and made sure that I knew that he didn't want a kid yet if I knew I couldn't handle it. And then everything changed--mostly due to the incident that nearly wrecked our memorial weekend camping and sent me home for some supplies that I hadn't needed in... oh... nine months plus however old Ameira is. That little reminder has me wanting to change my mind. I asked Ry what he thought about returning to the plan and he just smiled really big. He said he'd be on board since he really doesn't want another fall baby because we'd be dealing with sick season again during the winter months. Lets just say the fall baby thing was a bad experience for us. His other condition... He wants to try for a boy.
Don't get me wrong, I know that God controls these things. However since I'm such a nerd and read up a ton on fertility and all that goes with it, I heard about this little thing called the Shettles method. Apparently its easier to use it to try for a boy than it is to use it for a girl. We've got our girls and Ryan wants to give it our all to have another male in the house. My preference is for another girl. I will not be disappointed if we get a third girl. Ry has promised to keep in mind that getting a third girl is highly likely and therefore he won't be disappointed either.
Sometimes I become resentful that most of our combined fertility falls to me. I'm the one that would have to be taking birth control pills. I'm the one that didn't react well with them and therefore put the time and effort into learning the more natural method. I'm the one that was responsible for taking my temperature and all those other things you check. I'm the one that had to be the voice of reason in the moments that you don't necessarily want to be so that we didn't have an oops. Most of the time I can slap myself out of it and remind myself of all the areas I don't have to be the fall guy because Ryan has stepped up... most of the time. Its a little funny giving Ry a list of things he should or should not do in order to increase our chances of having a boy. He gave me a funny look and I said, if this is what you want, I'll try my best, but its going to come down to you. All he could say was, "geez, I feel so much pressure." But really, that's the kind of pressure that falls to the woman. I just think its kind of amusing to see the tables turned. Maybe I'm a jerk. I don't know. However, to be fair, I'm sure it didn't help that I added, "Weird, did you realize that you're the last of your line of Enlows? Wait. You're the last of your DAD's line... and your GRANDPA'S. We really need to have a boy."
Honestly, it really had just hit me. I swear. "WHAT? it's TRUE." Okay, I'm a jerk.