Baby, baby

We had a heated discussion about in what way we want to start our family. I had mustered up the courage to talk to him about surrogacy. To me, surrogacy sounded beneficial and viable, like the fact that we would be guaranteed a baby, unlike adoption when there were many hoops to go through. 

A real, live, beautiful baby. My baby. Our baby.

But he said he was uncomfortable about bringing in a third party into the mix. 

"I just don't feel comfortable about it," he said.

"But it's a guarantee that we would have our own baby. One that could be born with my egg and your sperm."

"I don't know, it doesn't feel right."

"The genes from the birth mother wouldn't transfer, at least that's what I read, if that's what you're worried about."

"Do you hear what I'm saying? I don't feel comfortable with it."

"So then what are our other options?" I implored.

He went on to tell me that, who knows, in two to three years my health could drastically change for the better. There could be better, more improved medications for my mental illness. 

I was shocked. I had already thought of the ways that going with natural, child birth and carrying a baby would be dangerous for me. I'm forty years old and by the time we would be ready to get pregnant I would be at least forty two of forty three, at the youngest. Being pregnant over the age of forty has many risks. Then, I would have to come off of all my medications that help me to feel normal. After ten years of struggling to find the right medication cocktail, he was asking me to start all over again. I felt hurt. I felt like he wanted me to risk my life and sanity. I was shocked.

"That's not what I'm saying," he said. "I'm not forcing you to do anything; I'm just asking you to consider how your health might change in two to three years."

I felt shattered. The health and normalcy I worked so hard to achieve was being taken for granted, like it was so easy to do, when in reality it wasn't. It happened through many years of mental instability from not being on the right medications, from trial and error, from patience, from perseverance. I felt unseen, I felt hurt, I felt like I he wanted me to risk my life when there were other, safer options to starting our family.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't. He said to sleep on it, which is what I did. But there is still so much to think about.