The end of the line

I was the end of the line for my parents. When my mom birthed me, she almost gave her life. The doctor stopped short of asking my father who he was supposed to save, the baby or his wife. I'm a miracle. A blessing to be here.

My brother is the oldest, then my two sisters, and then me. Each with about 4 years between us. I, of course, was supposed to be the second boy, not the third girl. My parents never threw that in my face, but it was every day inferred. Not because they didn't love me, but because I think, they were done with raising girls. (Interestingly enough, girls have now become the treasured grandchildren at my mom's house. Mostly because they are outnumbered by boys 5-1.)

Also in my family, I have been the only one to really "have religion". My dad is an self-proclaimed atheist, although my mom does now hold down a calling, she had been inactive for most of my life. My oldest sister was sealed to her husband a year after they were married, but they have become lax and sway with the worldly winds. Both my brother and my sister are free spirits, with no thought to rules or guidelines. Morality on my siblings part, was pretty sketchy growing up.

I am not saying that I was a perfect child. I was close, but surely not as perfect as it seemed. I had my own rites of passage, and I have my own tattoo. But considering the amount of positive example given in my life, I think I turned out better than could be hoped for.

So is it any wonder that I go through my own moments of self-doubt. Moments lacking of testimony, or of determination. Some days staying in bed would be ideal. I make too many mistakes. I don't have the courage, the drive, to fight the fight.

I have been trying my entire life to please my parents. There was always something there that I didn't understand, something that I could never overcome. I didn't know what it was, until that moment I found out that I was carrying my third boy. All the dissapointment, all the frustration, anger, it all came out. And the only thought I had, was that my parents felt this same way when I was born.

This pregnancy has been the end of the line for me. There is no way I want to ever do this again. With all the work that went into getting pregnant, and all the prayers, the sacrifices that we went through, it doesn't change the fact that I have been sick, daily puking. That my back hasn't ever been the same, that veins that are supposed to stay inside the skin, have made themselves public. I am constantly tired, worn out. Achy. But that is all small potatoes. The biggest problem; I am depressed. It has been a journey of self discovery, and a light bulb moment.

With Harry, I had post-partum depression. I had thoughts about hurting myself, and my baby. I let the ugly girl from the back row in my subconscious rule out the other nice girls on the front row. She was mean, and scary, a dictator, and I was a different person. When I couldn't get pregnant, the ugly girl started in on me again, so when finaly, the positive test came up, I thought she was beaten down for good. But guess what, she has always been there, she just was quietly waiting her time out, and with recent events in my life, she is back with a vengeance.

Physically, emotionally, mentally I cannot do this again. I can't fight within myself. So dear third boy, you are the end of the line, and I hope that I don't make you feel inferior, or lacking. I hope I can give you enough of whatever is left in me, that makes you know that you are still wanted.