I am struggling with a lot of identity, purpose and direction issues right now. I feel torn. There are things that I want for myself, things that I believe I am meant to be doing, but I am held back by the life I have built for myself. I think that my purpose is to physically work towards saving the environment. And I feel that to do that, I need to be in a location that needs physical help. Like the desert. Or the rainforest. Or the tundra. Or working on things related to saving these areas, things I don't really believe I can do here, in the Netherlands. And I can't do any of it because I have built this life, this family, this home and I am stuck here.
I feel torn, because I feel a pull to be somewhere else, making a difference, when I am sort of trapped by responsibility, obligation and love, to be here with my family. It's also awkward, because I feel like I can't make a difference here. This may have something to do with the 'terrible twos' and The Little Ninja asserting his independence, but I feel like I am stuck in a constant battle with him. And I'm losing. I feel like I have no impact here at all. Like I am totally useless. No one even listens to me or pays any attention to me. This combines with my complete burn-out in the work sphere, where I also feel I am not making any difference in the world and am not even actually making any money, either. Which is sort of the whole point of a job. If I have to do something that completely bores and/or frustrates me, I should at least have something to show for it. And I don't. The only thing I have to show for it is a growing list of physical problems and internal turmoil.
So. Amidst all of this tension is the desire to have a second child. Logically, it is a stupid choice. I can barely handle the one-child family I have now. I hated being pregnant and I still remember how absolutely horrible delivery was. And pregnancy and delivery are really kind of necessary parts of having children. And I do consider that things will likely ease up a bit when The Little Ninja starts school in another year and a half. And I know that having another child would add to the stress, the responsibility, the workload and postpone any possible freedom for at least another 4 years.
And children are a gamble: you don't know what they're going to be like until they're born. I know that I might have another child (or twins!) that is (are) just as difficult as TLN. And that scares me, because I truly don't know if I could handle that. I mean, physically and developmentally, TLN is perfectly healthy and I am still driven to tears trying to deal with him. I could have a child with health issues or developmental issues, which would force me into a role I could not thrive in and essentially deprive me of any possible sort of freedom in the future. And that would probably kill me. But delivery could kill me too. If it hadn't been for modern medicine, both TLN and I likely would have died during the childbirth process. I know that. Childbirth remains a major risk.
So, logically, the choice is simple. Deal with the one child I already have, keep on keeping on until this phase or whatever passes (please, please be a phase that passes), and be prepared to sacrifice yet another year of my purpose, drive, passion, and self, really, to this one child with the hope that after that, when he starts school, I can then get my own life on track and do something I feel is meaningful.
So where's the dilemma, right?
It's here: I don't believe that family decisions should be made with logic. I believe that these are the decisions that should be made with the heart. My heart knows everything my head knows. It knows how I constantly struggle with TLN. It knows that a second child may only add to my distress. But it still yearns for another child. It has faith.
And it is possible that a second child would be easier than TLN. I see it in families all around me; two totally different children, with totally different temperaments and personalities, one easier and the other more difficult to handle. And I hear regularly that delivering a second child is much easier/faster than the first. These things are all possible.
But I am afraid that it would be even harder. I am afraid it might kill me. I am afraid of being trapped in this current role and place. I already feel guilty for wanting a different life than I have. And yet I yearn to entrap myself even further with another child, another chain keeping me here, useless and unfulfilled. Unhappy. It is stupid. And I see that. Believe me. And yet, somehow, it STILL seems like the right thing to do. And this conspires to only add to the turmoil inside me. I want yet another thing that I shouldn't want.
Popular wisdom says that you should design your life around the things you want to have achieved when you die. So that if you were to look back on your life on your deathbed, you would be satisfied with the life you had lived and the achievements and contributions you had made.
I need to make a difference. I want to contribute. And I want a family. Are these things mutually exclusive? I don't believe they should be. But then I wonder if I'm just rushing too much. Why can't I take a few years from my purpose to have the family? I can't do it later. Time is running out as it is. If I am going to have another child, now is the time to do it. Now, when the likelihood of a chromosomal anomaly is still reasonably low. Now, while I still have most of the baby equipment needed. Now, so that I can stop sitting on the fence about this one issue and confidently move toward the future - freedom delayed by a few years, true, but not by indecision.
But what if my haste is some unconscious knowledge that I won't live to be 94 like my grandfather? What if time is running out in more respects than just fertility, and if I am going to make any difference in the world, it needs to be now? Then I need to focus on that. And forget family expansion.
But something inside me won't let me decide with any finality not to have another child. I can't do it. And yet I fear to move forward... My head is decided one way, my heart the other. And so I sit here, on the fence, torn, waiting for something to change, to shift the balance.
